Chapter 35

The setting sun painted the sky a golden orange and as soon as Methos finished settling the account for their stay with the young acolyte he wandered out into the gardens. Night was coming and with it the cool that made sleep possible. The scent of jasmine, rose, lily and lotus hung in the air around the small pool at the center of the garden, fruit trees, flowering bushes and vines adding to the sweetness of the evening. Methos found a seat beside the pool, absently trailing a hand in the water until he plucked a lotus blossom, shaking it dry. He stared at it for a moment, then smiled wistfully as he inhaled its redolent fragrance. He would press it for Daniel and leave it in the boy's journal as he often did with his own. Pleasant memories amidst all the turmoil he'd known.

A flock of cranes wheeled overhead, the sound of their raucous cries seeming to punctuate the day while miles away along the river a herd of hippos answered the call. Methos glanced up, watching the birds, for no particular reason suddenly reminded of his last night in Cairo when the sound of car horns and truck engines had filled the air.

He heard a step on the gravel path behind him and turned to see O'Neill purposefully making his way toward him. Methos looked away, not the least bit surprised the colonel wanted a word with him. Obviously, Jack's easy acceptance of his dissembling about Ramirez had been for public consumption only.

"The others settling in?" Methos asked as O'Neill took a seat on the bench beside him. Like all guests they had a small room to stow their gear and a ladder which led to the roof where, like the rest of the population, they could sleep to avoid the heat.

"They're fine. Carter's having a bath, Teal'c's on the roof meditating and Daniel's drooling over his camcorder."

Methos laughed softly. "I wish I could take him back to Giza or Karnak, but there'll be other temples to see along the river even this far north. Either way," Methos sighed. "He'll still have some fond memories."

"Yeah," O'Neill said uncomfortably, though Methos didn't comment on his unspoken thought. "So what's the deal with your friend? What's his name? Ram-something?"

Methos took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "Ramirez is fine. Ramesses never cared for his old names once he took a new one. He used to say that a new name was like a new lease on life. It forced us to leave the old ways and the old days behind."

"Used to?" O'Neill asked quietly.

"He died, or dies, in 15th century Scotland. Another victim of the damn Kurgan."

"What's a Kurgan?"

Methos shrugged. "The Kurgans were one of the nomadic tribes living on the Russian Steppe, but the Kurgan was an Immortal. A big, vicious brute, who hunted heads for power and laughs. Didn't care how he got them, either. Older Immortals quickly learned to avoid him. That's when he started looking for pre-Immortals, killing them and taking their heads the instant they came into their power. Got a real kick going after the weak and defenseless. Immortal or otherwise. Connor MacLeod, our MacLeod's cousin and Ramirez' last student, finally took him out a few years back."

O'Neill nodded thoughtfully. "So, what did you say to Ramirez when you ran off?"

Methos bowed his head, knowing Jack would have the truth out of him no matter what. And in a way, he realized with a sense of surprise, he wanted him to know. "I told him the name of the Immortal who would kill him."

There was a long pause as O'Neill digested this obvious attempt to alter history. Finally, he asked the one question Methos had been dreading.

"Why?"

"It's a long story," Methos sighed. "But you're not leaving until you've got it. Right?"

"Not a chance," O'Neill grinned. "You're better than television."

That wasn't saying much, Methos thought wryly.

"As you must have guessed, Ramirez knows I was one of the Horsemen."

O'Neill nodded and Methos slowly went on. "That came about, oh, maybe a century ago when Egypt was in a power vacuum and the army was virtually leaderless. We saw it as an opportunity and were raiding in the south around Kom Ombo when Ramesses showed up with a handful of armed troops and a couple of hundred angry villagers at his back. He knew what we were and he wasn't having any of it. Of course, we ran. But he and his men tracked us. When we couldn't shake him we separated, thinking he'd pick one trail and we'd surprise him at the end by joining up and taking them in an ambush. It didn't quite work out that way," Methos added sardonically.

"He picked your trail," O'Neill surmised and Methos nodded ruefully.

"Rode through the desert in the heat of the day to catch up and caught me when my horse went lame. I got lucky. Kronos had waited to see who he'd follow and doubled back to find me. He never liked giving up anything he considered his."

"So, you got away."

Methos nodded, shivering a little as the temperature suddenly dropped. "Yeah, we escaped and went down to Ethiopia. You know what happened there," he sighed. "Anyway, I didn't run into Ramirez again until after I'd left the Horsemen."

"How did that happen?" O'Neill asked curiously. "You leaving, I mean."

"Another long story, for another time," Methos smiled sadly. "Suffice it to say Kronos thought me dead and I was content to leave it that way." O'Neill said nothing and Methos shrugged. "I was pretty much at loose ends at the time. Coming down from the Horseman high wasn't easy. I mean, you're this all powerful being to everyone around and suddenly you're on the street looking for a job."

"Heard that," O'Neill nodded. "I tried retiring. Private sector sucks."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't any good at it either," Methos smiled briefly. "I'd learned to take what I wanted when I wanted it and working for a living seemed demeaning. I'd done it before, of course. A long time before. As a scribe in one of the Mesopotamian cities. The experience led to my being sent into slavery with the rest of the non-combatants when Akkad fell to Sumer. Though I did meet my first teacher shortly thereafter. The same one as the Kurgan, by the way."

O'Neill gave him a look and the Immortal nodded tiredly. "He was pretty bad," Methos admitted. "Had a taste for the 'well-seasoned' Quickening - especially if he'd salted the meat himself. I have only one reason to be grateful to the Kurgan. He was meaner and more depraved than the bastard who trained me. And with Ku'haktar gone that was one less Immortal who wanted my head."

"Explains a lot," O'Neill said quietly.

"After my training," Methos shrugged, quickly changing the subject. "Like every other useless Immortal, I became a mercenary. Then I met the others and the rest, as they say, is history." He sighed and looked up at the stars, pulling his himation closer as a chill wind touched him.

"Of course, it didn't take long for the money to run short after I left the Horsemen," he continued, returning to his story. "My business acumen at the time was fairly limited. Counting loot and dividing shares wasn't much of an investment strategy. And we'd lived large. Eventually, I ended up back in Egypt - with no funds and no real desire to get them honestly. I wasn't about to become part of the common herd and end up defenseless again. And I sure as hell didn't want to be a mercenary, because that's where the others likely were and I was avoiding them. So, I stole. Purses, trinkets, anything I could lay hands on easily. I lived from hand to mouth and was fairly angry about it, but what else could I do? Even if I'd wanted to become a scribe again I'd have had to go to one of the temple schools and for that I needed money and sponsorship. I couldn't just sit down in a public place with a few sheets of papyrus and ink. Scribes had to be approved and licensed. After a while," he sighed. "I found myself in Alexandria. And that's when I saw it."

"Saw what?" O'Neill asked as Methos paused, remembering.

"The Great Library," he smiled wistfully. "Thousands of books all in one place - and available to anyone who wanted to read. Within reason, of course," he added ruefully. "Scholars only, please. Disreputable looking foreigners need not apply."

"That must've hurt," O'Neill said gently.

"Pissed me off, actually. So I robbed the place." Methos laughed bitterly. "Well, not really robbed. I was so enamored of the books and the whole concept of them being available to me whenever I wanted that I'd steal a few scrolls, read them through and sneak them back on the shelves the next time I went. It never even occurred to me that I should sell them for money. And books were really worth something then."

"Now, that's my minion." O'Neill nodded approvingly. "Book thief extraordinaire- and inventor of the original lending library."

Methos raised an eyebrow, but smiled amiably. "Well, it was a foolish thing to do," he went on. "The librarians were pretty sharp and they caught on real fast to what was happening. Still, I didn't think they'd tell the Guard. I mean, the books were back on the shelves within days. Where was the harm?"

"In not being able to find what you wanted when you wanted?" O'Neill suggested.

"Probably," Methos agreed. "Little did I know Ramirez was currently in charge of the Pharaoh's Guard."

"Oh, man," O'Neill whispered, shaking his head.

"Yup," Methos nodded. "I think he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I couldn't afford a room and I didn't mind sleeping outside, so I'd found a nice sheltered spot with all the other indigents not far from the quay. It was a pretty easy life. I'd fish to eat and read to stay sane. I thought I was being discreet, but someone must have seen me and the gossip, as it always did, got around."

Methos shifted uncomfortably as he remembered the awful moment when Ramirez and his soldiers cornered him with his back to the sea. "Anyway," he swallowed hard. "Ramesses arrested me, but instead of throwing me into prison or challenging me, he brought me to his house and locked me in one of the guest suites."

"He what?!" O'Neill asked in astonishment.

Methos nodded. "You think you're surprised?" he asked. "You should have seen my face. Worse, I looked like an overgrown street urchin and had all the emotional restraint of an adolescent."

O'Neill looked even more surprised by that comment, but Methos merely raised a brow at the irony. "Surely you've guessed by now that Immortals tend to stay the same age psychologically as they are physically at first death?" O'Neill gave a half shrug and nodded.

"Well, I was no better and frankly, much worse. I might not have remembered being raised by Tok'ra and Inanna, but I was. And it was a pretty sheltered upbringing in spite of being in the midst of a war. Look at your own twenty-somethings. The knowledge of the world at their fingertips, but real worldly knowledge completely outside their grasp unless they deliberately seek it. Life's too easy, too safe and desires too instantly gratified. I was the same. I didn't expand my horizons with the Horsemen, I just became dangerous, sly and wary. Immortals only grow emotionally when they have great trauma in their lives, or a sudden revelation of spirit. Otherwise, there's no reason to change. And I hadn't really had either."

"So what happened? What did Ramirez want?"

"I wasn't sure at first," Methos admitted. "Then he sent slaves to bathe and dress me, just like you would any guest. I was certain he'd taken a fancy to me and thought it would be fitting revenge to make me his catamite until he decided to take my head." O'Neill looked shocked, but Methos only shrugged. "Happened a lot in those days. Anyway, he came that night and offered me a choice. The book of poetry I'd been reading when he found me, or my sword."

"Interesting option," O'Neill remarked dryly.

"Just what I thought," Methos agreed. "It was a fool's choice. Especially when I knew damn well that Ramirez was better with a sword than almost anybody, including me. Remember, I'd almost lost to him the first time we fought."

"So you took the book."

"Sure did," Methos grinned. "I wasn't a complete idiot. Then Ramirez ordered me to kneel by his feet and read to him."

"Jesus," O'Neill whispered, appalled.

"Yeah," Methos nodded. "I figured I was right and threw the book at him. Told him to bring back my sword and just finish it, because I wasn't going to be his pet anything."

Methos stared ahead, still vaguely surprised as he recalled that night. "He didn't get angry, just refused. Saying I'd made my choice and now I would have to live with it. Of course, I was furious," he shook his head. "I attacked him barehanded and he knocked me senseless. When I woke up the room was stripped of everything and so was I. All he'd left me was my loincloth and the book I'd been reading."

"Okay, this is getting weird," O'Neill said uncomfortably.

"It's not what you think," Methos grinned. "Wasn't what I thought either. He wasn't interested in my body, but my mind - only I was too blind to see it immediately. I spent the night shivering and the day reading, since there wasn't anything else to do. Then Ramirez came back and again asked me to read to him. And again I refused. For three days this went on, until he finally asked me where the logic was in starving myself to death when all he was asking was that I read one little poem and discuss it with him."

"Huh?!"

Methos laughed ruefully. "Yup. That was it. Read a poem and hold an intelligent conversation with someone who was interested in the same thing."

"And you refused?" O'Neill looked astonished.

Methos shrugged. "I was ashamed. He'd found my weakness and I thought he meant to use it against me. Or maybe I was just being stubborn. But that last time... Well, what he said made sense. There was no logic in refusing to read when it was something I enjoyed doing. And I could smell the food he'd brought out in the hallway. I'd done pretty much the same thing to hundreds of slaves and knew it was pointless to fight. In the end, he'd win. Just as I always did. So, I gave in. Picked a ridiculously sweet love poem and read it to him just to see what he'd do. I thought that's what he wanted. A prelude to putting the moves on me. Instead, he brought in the tray and asked me what I thought of what I'd read. I told him it was silly and foolish because love didn't really exist. We debated the point until he was satisfied with my arguments, even if he didn't agree, then had the slaves bring me some comfortable bedding. A week or so later when we'd finished discussing every poem in that little manuscript he brought me another book and another piece of furniture after I'd done reading it."

"He kept you prisoner and rewarded you for reading?" O'Neill asked, dumbfounded.

"Food for conversing, furniture for reading," Methos nodded. "Took about a year, but eventually I earned back the entire contents of the guest suite. More importantly, he taught me how to think about what I read and how to be a discerning reader. To question not just the author's motives, but my own as well. And to express myself clearly and concisely in debate."

"That is just too weird," O'Neill murmured, shaking his head.

"But it worked." Methos inhaled deeply and sighed. "It took me a while to realize it, but Ramirez did what no one else had ever done. Managed to civilize me back into a semblance of the man I'd been before I'd met Ku'ahktar. When the rooms were back in order I figured he was done amusing himself with me. And by that point, I'd have been just as grateful if he'd shown me the door and taken the experience as a somewhat odd, but rather interesting interlude. The last book he gave me was a copy of Plato's Socratic dialogue, On Excellence. It asks the question, what makes a man more than just a man, but an excellent man? We never discussed the book, but my reward for reading it was the key to my room and another choice. I could leave or stay on as his guest."

"My guess is you stayed."

Methos nodded. "Got to thinking about what I'd be going back to," he grinned wryly. "And being his house guest was a damn sight better than living off my wits on the street. At any rate, he seemed pleased when I agreed. The slaves came and dressed me nicely in all the same gift clothes he'd given me before then he led me to the dining hall to join his other dinner guests. Really brilliant men and women. Philosophers, poets, mathematicians. All the great thinkers of the age. And I sat at the foot of his couch in the son's place - which is what he'd first offered me when he'd wanted me to sit by his feet and read, though I didn't realize it until then. I might have been the elder, but he was certainly the wiser and I was grateful for it."

Methos smiled wistfully. "Pretty soon I was going to school at the university and studying with those same men and women. And when it was time for Ramirez to leave as he always did every twenty or thirty years, he got me a position as a librarian in the Great Library and told me to keep his house safe for him."

"He raised you," O'Neill said, a hint of wonder in his voice.

"He gave me back my life," Methos agreed. "And while I may have occasionally back slid for the sake of expedience, I never forgot what he taught me. When I ran into him in Spain just before he left for Scotland, I thought he'd bust with pride when he found out I'd been appointed a Court Physician."

"My son the doctor," O'Neill teased.

Methos laughed softly then shook his head. "If I'd known then he wouldn't make it back I'd have stopped him, even if I had to lock him up for a century."

"You owed him," O'Neill nodded.

"Everything," Methos agreed quietly.

"Okay," Jack nodded, satisfied with his explanation. "I understand why you did it. I'd probably have done the same. But that doesn't change things in the here and now. Ramirez could still change his mind and come after you. So, first thing in the morning, Daniel and Teal'c are going to get us a ride out of here. You stick close to me until we leave."

Methos nodded. O'Neill was right. At this point in time he really couldn't say he knew Ramirez well. In seven hundred years the man might have changed dramatically, though he doubted it.

"By the way," O'Neill asked as he stood to leave. "Ramirez ever give you a reason why he locked you in the Book of the Month Club?"

Startled by the question, Methos laughed softly and nodded. "As a matter of fact, he did. But I'd forgotten, because it never made sense to me."

"Well?" O'Neill asked when Methos didn't elaborate. "Why?"

The Immortal hid a smile. "He said one day he was going to ask me a very important question and he was just making sure I could answer it competently."

Go to next part.


people have been to this page since March 16, 2003.