Of Biblical Proportion

by lowri

Methos recovers a cache of ancient scrolls that he had buried two thousand years ago containing information on the Methuselah Stone's origin. He must deal with Amy Zoll and Julia Harami before he can return to Paris and despell Duncan's belief of his inv

Disclaimer: All things Highlander belong to Panzer/Davis. I've just borrowed their fabulous characters to answer another of those pesky questions that plagued me after the show ended. Several character names were taken from the new Watcher CD and from Margaret George's book, The Memoirs of Cleopatra. See the author's notes at the end for more details.

When I began writing this story, it was comprised of mostly flashbacks to the time of Cleopatra's reign in Egypt. After several rounds of rewrites, much of the flashbacks have been condensed or deleted. Since I am very partial to what happens to Methos during that time, I have decided to combine the flashbacks and put them in a separate story and label them as "missing scenes." I am not going to post it as its own story but it can be found on my web page.

This particular tale is a continuation of Reassignment, Hidden Agenda and, to a limited degree, Origins. Eventually there will be a fourth story, Adjustment, which will be from Duncan's POV on the whole Methuselah Stone experience. All of the stories mentioned above are archived on Seventh Dimension and my own web page,

Many thanks to my betas Shomeret and Janeen Grohsmeyer. They have helped me with plot holes, helped me break down one huge story into smaller parts, and where to restructure this part into a more balanced story. Also, I would like to give a special thanks to Janeen who has painstakingly corrected my grammar and punctuation. Anything mistakes you find are entirely my fault due to my last-minute tweaking just before posting.

Of Biblical Proportions

Part 1

I

June 1999

Joe disembarked from the Air France Flight 266 at 6:30 in the evening to find Amy Zoll waiting for him after he went through customs. She shifted from foot to foot. When she caught his eye, her agitation did not lessen. That was when Joe realized that something big had happened.

"Pierson didn't come back from Egypt with you?" she questioned abruptly.

Joe smiled at her continued use of Methos' pseudonym even though she'd known Methos' true identity for over two years, ever since that mess in Bordeaux. "No, he saw a TV show where some archeologists were uncovering an old home of his, and he thought he'd check it out."

That took her aback; conflicting thoughts seemed to race through her mind. "I should probably fly down and see what he's doing," Dr. Zoll considered aloud. She blinked. "But, not before I tell you what the hell's been going on here." She sighed deeply and looked covertly around her. "We should go someplace a little more private."

"You can drive me home?" he suggested.

She grunted. "Fine. Pick up your luggage and I'll meet you out front."

Joe smiled in acknowledgement then proceeded to the baggage carrousel. It took another half an hour before the bags began pouring out. As he waited, his mind tried to think of what would make Dr. Zoll come all the way to the airport to meet him. He knew she didn't like him. There was never a time when she even pretended to enjoy his company. Most of the time they met, she demanded information; he obfuscated as much as possible, blending it with some truth, and she'd leave grumpy. Joe didn't care. He was caught between a rock and a hard place--his Watcher oath and his friends. The balance was never easy.

The revolving doors brought him outside, where a dozen cars were lined up. Dr. Zoll beeped at him, catching his attention. He walked over to her car, pulling a cart carrying his belongings. After dumping them in the back seat, he gingerly got into the front. A tiny part of him wished that she had at least offered to help, but his male pride would have been horrified. He just had to resign himself to the fact that not everyone liked him.

As soon as he closed the door, she sped off.

"My curiosity is killing me," Joe started the conversation. "What has you making--"

She glared at him just before she changed lanes. "We have bigger problems now. I just got a call from Keith Trenton and he informed me that everything is happening as we speak."

"*What* is happening?"

"Nick Wolfe has been kidnapped by a former Hunter named John Murray, who is--"

"Kidnapped?" Joe interrupted. "Nick is new to the game. There's no reason--"

"Please let me finish." She let out a suffering sigh. "We intercepted a call Murray placed earlier this afternoon to MacLeod's barge. In the message, he stated that he wanted to exchange Wolfe for Amanda's piece of Rebecca's crystal."

"What did Mac do?"

"When I picked you up, he hadn't received the message yet. I just received a call saying that Murray has called again and MacLeod is talking to him." She zipped around a corner, sending Joe into the door. His expletives remained unvoiced. "I'm taking you to the barge instead of home," she informed him.

Joe mulled over the problem as he righted himself in the seat. "You think he has the rest of the crystal?"

She looked at him scornfully. "I imagine he does. We've never tried to hide the facts surrounding Geiger's mishap. Everyone knew that the pieces were lost in the Seine. Murray just had the gumption to retrieve them all."

Dr. Zoll pulled her car to a stop under a bridge close to the barge. Joe recognized Keith Trenton as he slipped from his hiding place to greet them.

"Not good, mates," he remarked with an Australian lilt. "I couldn't hear what was said, but the two tore out of here a few minutes ago. Theresa and Davy are following."

Zoll and Trenton turned to look at Joe. He desperately wanted to look inside the barge to see if Mac had written anything down, but there wasn't time. A renegade Watcher, a Hunter for God's sake, was about to assemble the Methuselah Stone and make himself immortal. The lives of Mac and Amanda would then become forfeit. Wolfe, too, for that matter.

Amy Zoll took control of the situation. "Get in your car, Keith, and let's go."

The two cars, Dr. Zoll behind Mr. Trenton, were heading north. They drove for over an hour before they pulled into a driveway leading up to a large chateau. Another car was parked just outside the entrance to the driveway, with a man and a woman still seated inside. Joe assumed that they were the two Watchers Trenton had referred to previously.

As their car went slowly up the long driveway, Joe could see Mac's car in a spot closest to the front door. There was no other life outside the building.

"You go in first, Mr. Dawson," Dr. Zoll instructed, as she handed him a small revolver. "Mr. Trenton will go around to the back--"

Joe didn't stay around to listen. His instincts were telling him that Mac was in trouble. As soon as the car had come to a complete stop, he threw open his door and awkwardly ambled out. Taking large steps, resting much of his weight on his cane, he made it to the front door, which was closed but not locked. He quietly opened it, listening for approaching footsteps or people talking. His ears picked up Mac's voice.

"Do you really envy us that much? Long life--"

Mac stopped talking and Joe could then pick up a murmur of another voice, although the words weren't clear. There were so many rooms along the hallway. Making sure the safety was off the borrowed gun, he approached the first door. He opened it to find a large empty sitting room. The next room had a billiard table.

The voice became louder. "I can feel its power pleading with me."

Then Joe could hear wood splitting and pounding footsteps. Taking long strides, he reached the next door, to find Mac and the other Watcher embraced in a deadly struggle. Mac stiffened, separating himself slightly from Murray's arms, falling to his knees. Joe shot; his only thought was to save Mac from another deadly Hunter. John Murray slumped to the ground as lightning ripped upwards from the Highlander's exposed neck.

II

Methos sat in his hotel room, eyes glued to the TV screen. The camera panned out, revealing the desert complete with the Sphinx hovering over several teams of archeologists digging within the semi-rocky sand. The news story was just one of many that had captured the oldest Immortal's attention since Joe Dawson had left earlier that morning.

"This settlement we're unearthing appears to have belonged to a prosperous community," the head archeologist was telling the reporter. "We have found evidence of family homes, and even an infirmary of sorts."

Methos found the words unsettling. "Why have they found this now?" he asked himself. Jumping up from the edge of the bed, he grabbed another can of beer from the hotel fridge and downed it without stopping. His eyes stayed riveted on the screen.

His thoughts were jumbled. First, he had to contend himself with the possibility that they might find the ancient scrolls that had been entombed by Sihathor. Now, another of his homes was about to be violated. However, what bothered him the most was the cache of writings he had buried there during Cleopatra's reign.

"This seems to refute the theory that the pyramids were built by slaves," the TV droned on. "Whole families lived here. Brewers and bakers, wives and children made their homes alongside strong men who slowly built the specimens we see before us."

Methos laughed humorlessly. "Of course the builders of the pyramids were men with families. It took multiple generations and skilled craftsmen to design and put together the magnificent structures." The people his ranting was directed toward could not hear.

"Is the digging going to continue much longer?" the reporter asked.

"We have only touched on the treasures we may find here," the archeologist responded.

"Treasures like my scrolls," Methos yelled at the TV as he paced in the room. He couldn't imagine the scientists' surprise if they unearthed his wine cask containing writings from two thousand years ago in a settlement four and a half thousand years old. During Cleopatra's reign, historians firmly believed that slaves built the pyramids. How could the world back then believe that story if they had known about this particular settlement? It didn't bear thinking about. He had to retrieve his belongings; there was no choice in the matter.

With a precision born of tens of centuries of practice, Methos lost one persona, took up another, then headed for Giza. His papers stated that he was employed in the Anthropology Department at the University of Manchester. The other two researchers also from Manchester were from the Chemistry Department and most likely wouldn't know or care who he was. They'd be too busy doing their own studies.

He drove his vehicle into the parking area located south of the dig. It was amazing how much they had unearthed in such a short amount of time. Methos took a moment to just look at his surroundings, letting memories wash over him in technicolor vividness. He had been so young back then. Ignorant of what life had to offer and things he needed to learn. Only Pharaoh existed and the need to pay homage to their gods.

"Who the hell are you?" a voice broke into his thoughts.

Methos turned his eyes away from his inner thoughts and directed them onto the inquisitor. "My name is Dr. Pickett. Adam Pickett," Methos responded, sounding young and bemused, with a distinctive British accent. "I just arrived from Manchester. It's taken me several days just to find my way here. I thought someone was supposed to meet me at the airport and after waiting--"

"I'm sorry you weren't met, but things are really hopping here," his suspicion dissolved into an apology. "I guess we couldn't spare the people,"

Methos smiled with understanding. "Do you know who I'm supposed to report to?"

"Dr. Hawass is in charge of everything, but Samir Farid is his assistant. What's your specialty?"

"Translating script. Any scrolls or inscriptions found?" Methos tried not to let anxiousness creep into his voice.

"All of the writing we've seen have been on the walls. I imagine that biological material would've decomposed by now, despite the dryness of the desert."

Inwardly Methos agreed. It was just that what he was looking for wasn't four millennia old, but only two.

"Let me give you a tour," his young guide told him. "I'm Kevin Dunn."

The two men walked from the makeshift parking lot into a hive of activity. The Sphinx stood sentinel over the proceedings, and Methos gave the stone guard a brief nod of humble respect as he passed. The small human face still seemed out of place, Methos having first gotten used to the magnificent lion's features so many years ago.

They entered the outskirts of the excavations. Large squares of area were roped off, and many workers were sifting through the sandy debris. Methos spared a glance toward the position where his own home had been. When he had come to bury his library copies and memoirs, the city had been underneath the desert and only his memories told him the location. Now deep pits were dug, outlining walls, delineating the spaces where the inhabitants had lived and worked. String demarcated boundaries between individual excavations. A bite of nostalgia for "the olden days" made Methos gasp then he exhaled slowly.

"Pretty cool," Kevin said conversationally. "Who'd have ever thought that we'd ever uncover something so profound."

The old immortal turned to the American anthropologist. "I am always surprised and awed at what we find on digs." And a little homesick, Methos added to himself. A student archeologist came over to them carrying a large ceramic jar, the kind used for storing beer. Methos felt his mouth watering for a taste of the kind of brew he used to make all those years ago. Swallowing abruptly, he turned to the two students. "Tell me what you've discovered so far?"

They began describing their initial finds in great detail, which required little response from Methos other than a brief comment at the appropriate time. This enabled him to scope out the surroundings up close. As far as he could tell, the area in which he had buried his belongings was still under the sand. In fact, that whole area hadn't been touched. He decided to help as best as he could and then return later that night and rescue his cache.

The day turned out better than Methos had hoped. The workers, a hodgepodge of nationalities, banded together and made some real progress. Methos helped identify the brewers' abode, which had belonged to him. None of them had any idea of what went into brewing beer in ancient times, so Methos gave them an impromptu lesson.

"Do you see this?" Methos pointed down into a hollowed out basin within the rock. "This is where the brewers processed the emmer wheat. Spikelets of the wheat were vigorously ground in order to break open the tough chaff and release the grain trapped inside."

His companions peered closing into the holes and saw the indentations in the rock where fossil-like wheat spikelets had decayed and embedded into the stone.

"I didn't know they had beer that long ago."

Methos shook his head in exasperation. "Beer has been around as long as man. It was an intricate part of their daily life. It gave nourishment and calories to an overworked population. Remember they didn't have TV and stereos. They worked all day and slept when they could. It was a hard life and they needed a lot of complex carbohydrates to keep going. Meat was rare, but I see an area over there that might be some kind of butcher's block."

The four archeology students went over to investigate. "This is cool," one of the students exclaimed. "One of the walls showed that they slaughtered cattle, but Dr. Hawass wasn't buying it. He said that it was representative, not an actual occurrence. But look at this," he said, pointing to the edge of a shelf, "cow bones!"

And so the day progressed. Methos enjoyed his time and considered staying a few more days. The "children" were so enthusiastic that it became contagious. Hawass' assistant, Samir Farid, with his superior attitude became easier to ignore. Kevin showed Methos where the students had pitched their tents and offered to share his. Methos kindly thanked him, but insisted that he would use his own tent.

Supper was cooked over camp stoves and then they all went to bed early so that could be up with the sun and start work again. Methos retired to his tent, ready to sleep, but set his watch alarm to go off at two thirty-seven. He had a small shovel in his backpack and a ready story in case someone found him digging. If they found him with the cask, it would become much more difficult to explain.

III

Dr. Amy Zoll carefully packed. Part of her mind was methodically folding and placing her clothes within the suitcase. The rest of her was fuming at Dawson. She had just finished talking to the older Watcher and he had given her flimsy excuses and half-truths. She knew that something more had happened inside that room between the Immortals and Murray. What it was, Dawson wasn't saying. The only explanation he had seen fit to give her was that Murray had assembled the Methuselah Stone and while Duncan MacLeod had been trying to knock it away from Murray, the ball of energy had disappeared inside the Highlander's body. That was it. Dawson's excuse was that MacLeod wasn't talking. Likely story. MacLeod told Dawson everything.

With the older Watcher now in Paris, Amy felt compelled to travel to Cairo and find Pierson. In her own mind, she wasn't sure if it was because she was curious to discover exactly what he was doing, or to inform him of MacLeod's plight.

She slammed the zipper home and lugged the heavy case off her bed. Using the built-in handle and wheels, she rolled it to her front door. The only helpful information Dawson had given her was where Pierson was staying and under what pseudonym.

The phone rang, interrupting self-indulgent tantrum.

"Hello?"

"Amy, am I glad you catch you in." Her friend Julia Harami was calling from Egypt. "I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to pick you up at the Cairo airport."

"What happened?"

"I was just informed that Methos showed up at the Giza dig. A non-Watcher friend of mine pulled some strings and got me a pass."

"You know Dawson told me that Pierson didn't come back to Paris because he saw a TV show where some archeologists were digging up an old home of his."

"You're kidding." The amazement came through the telephone wires loud and clear. "The site is dated to over four thousand years ago, and there's evidence that the former occupants were pyramid builders."

Amy felt the same awe. "So, you're going there. Do you plan on keeping out of sight?"

"I'm sure he doesn't know me. I've never met him or been in the same place back when he was a Watcher. I'll be just another face in the crowd."

"I hope you're right. If you're not coming to the airport, do you have someone else lined up?"

"Yep. Hashira Jahiel will meet you out front and take you to my place. I've got my cell phone, so once you get settled, give me a buzz. I can't wait to see what's going on."

Amy was anxious, too. "Thanks. I haven't seen Hashira in over a year. I look forward to catching up on old times. Good luck at the site."

She hung up the phone and then took another quick look around her apartment. Her plants were all watered, the sink was empty of dishes, and the timer on her lamp was turned on.

Her watch beeped. She glanced at it, noticing that she had another ten minutes to wait for her taxi. Her phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Zoll? This is Keith Trenton. We finished packing up the things in Murray's home. There were several volumes that looked to be journals. We took all the books and any other personal effects to Headquarters."

"Very good, Mr. Trenton." Amy smiled to herself. She bet Dawson was going to be upset that he hadn't gotten the first look at those journals. "Thank you for letting me know. I'm on my way to Cairo. If anything else comes up, you can get a hold of me through Julia Harami."

They said goodbye just as the taxi pulled up in front of her apartment.

IV

Julia arrived at the dig late in the day. After locating her friend Samir, they spent the better part of the evening in his tent going over some data. She found the ideas he had fascinating and wondered how much of it was true. It was too bad Methos couldn't have joined them and corrected any mistaken assumptions. From the cover of the tent, Julia saw the oldest Immortal retire to his tent.

"Who's that man?" she asked Samir.

"A very superior, pain-in-the ass. His eyes have this way of narrowing when I've said something he doesn't agree with. I can only stand him in small doses, so I've done my best to avoid him."

Julia laughed silently. She bet Methos had a few choice words about Samir, also. "Has he had any outlandish ideas that he's been able to find proof of?"

"Sort of," came the disgruntled reply. Then he quickly changed the subject.

They talked a few more hours, catching up on news and friends they had in common. Julia was very careful not to let a hint of her Watcher activities come out in their conversation. After it was quite late, Samir found her a cot and a place to sleep.

V

The noise outside the tent lessened as Methos felt slumber overtake him. It had been many years since he had slept on the sand instead of a comfy bed. He had left his outer tent flap open so the stars could shine on his face. His mind, succumbing to sleep, drifted from the present to the past. His body was trapped in the twentieth century, but his thoughts and memories were relived in dreams. The desert sounds brought him back to an earlier Egypt, the time of the last pharaoh--when he came to Alexandria while Cleopatra was still queen.

Alexandria- c. 33 BCE

Methos jumped out of the small barge that had carried him across the Nile. It had been a long and arduous journey from the city of Laodicea. He had studied medicine there for several seasons and had learned to make the miraculous eye salve. In his sack was a gift for Cleopatra, a black wool cape, suitable for nocturnal ventures. Even Egypt sometimes got cold. He had aspirations of working in the famed Museion--a literary treasure trove. As a learned scribe and world traveler, he hoped to engage the queen enough for her to allow his employment--despite his lack of "proper" credentials and introductions. It had been over two hundred years since he'd last been in Alexandria.

Venders selling fruits and bread lined the streets. Tables and carts flooded the area, covered in everything from silk to calfskin. Methos stopped by one of the tables and purchased three calfskins for future writing. Calfskin was a much better buy than sheepskin because of durability. He expected to live a long life, which meant his journals had to last a long time. As a three thousand-year-old immortal, he considered himself a strong competitor in the game. Not many others had his power or experience, he believed arrogantly.

Lost in his thoughts, Methos almost missed the front of the building he had come so far to invade. He looked with reverence at the high marble pillars with the sculpted muses along the top-- the nine muses of creative thought. A deep longing to once more be a part of the inner sanctum overcame sensible reason. With a deep breath, he entered. How much had been added since he last walked under these hallowed archways?

"I am Apollonius, the head librarian. Can I help you?"

Methos was startled, as the man seemed to appear from nowhere. "I am Metopholus. I wish to study from the great works stored here."

The old man stared intently at him. "Will you have something to add to our collection?"

Bribery at its highest form--this Methos understood. "I have come recently from Laodicea, where I studied with some great medical minds. I have some of their observations on scrolls."

"You are a scribe?"

"Yes, and a doctor. I have studied extensively in Rome, then Athens, then through many of the great cities in Asia Minor and Syria. Now I have come to Egypt." It felt like he was back home, Methos thought to himself.

"Your hair is a paler color than the Romans I am accustomed to seeing," the librarian stated tartly.

"No, I was born further north. When Caesar came through and conquered Gallia, I was made a Roman citizen." Methos gave a fake smile. "I was taken by a centurion as a servant. When he finally returned to Rome, he saw my mind was bent on learning so he sent me to the finest schools where I learned philosophy and medicine. I have never enjoyed the intricacies of government. Too complex for my taste."

"Fine. We can always use a good scribe. Do you want work or are you just planning on studying during the day?"

"Work and a place to stay. Can you recommend a good establishment?" Methos was hoping to stay on the palace grounds.

Apollonius appeared deep in thought. "There are several good places in the city that cater to a man with money. Or, if you wish, I can ask and see if there is a room available here at the Museion. Many of our scholars prefer to live here. Your choice."

"Living here would suit me." Methos was eager to begin.

"Let me find someone to show you the different rooms we have here. Today, you learn your way around. Tomorrow morning, I shall assign you a series of articles you will need to learn and then be tested on. There's Nebamun. He's equal to the task." The old librarian left Methos standing alone and walked over to talk privately to the other scholar. Soon both returned. Nebamun looked pleased to have been given this duty.

"I am pleased to meet you, Metopholus." Nebamun held out his arm to grasp Methos in the Roman way of greeting.

Methos returned the gesture. "I am anxious to see this beautiful place of learning. I have heard about it in many lands."

Nebamun led him from the front deeper into the inner sanctum. The rooms were large with ceilings that went high into the sky. Each of them was connected like links in a chain. Just beneath the ceiling, along the perimeter of the various rooms, was a series of windows. This enabled the readers to take advantage of sunlight during the day. Marble tables and benches were arranged around the open floor. Several benches were occupied, with scrolls spread out and people hard at work reading them.

Methos wanted to join them now. So much knowledge was there for the taking. He had read the whole collection the last time he had been here, and he eagerly awaited reading the new additions.

"Let me show you where we keep the many texts we have stored here." Nebamun led him across the room and opened a door leading into a much smaller room. Shelves ran all around the walls, with many scrolls lying on them. It resembled a beehive with each scroll making a cell. "You see, there are labels identifying the individual works."

"I see them." Methos went over and touched a wooden nametag, tied to the knobs. "This says Herophilus of Chalcedon."

"He was a master of Alexandrian medicine two hundred years ago," his guide explained. "Many of our current physicians make a point of learning his work."

Methos remembered the doctor well. They had studied together and argued over the many fine points of healing and ridding the body of ill-humors. Herophilus had been a master of bones and how they came together.

"Over here in the baskets are the multi-scrolled collections," Nebamun continued. "Their labels are located on the basket's handles."

Methos was very impressed with the way it was all organized. Instead of adding indiscriminantly to the shelves, they had invented an identification system. It hadn't been present two hundred years ago. "I am very interested in the medical writings. Could we come back later?"

"Of course. Shall we find Apollonius? He has probably located a place for you to sleep."

Methos nodded, but gave a last lingering look at the many scrolls stored in the room. Soon, he promised himself. The necessities first.

Apollonius was just coming through the large entryway into the large reading room. "I have good news for you, my friend. There is room for you in the student's dormitory. Several have just left to carry out familial and temple duties. Does this please you?"

"Very much," Methos replied with a grateful smile. "I look forward to my learning experience under your careful tutelage."

"You take a lot for granted, young man. I am very busy. What makes you think I will take care of your education personally?"

"I am an exceptional student. I think you will want to take advantage of the knowledge I already possess. If only for the reputed eye salve I have learned to make," Methos mentioned slyly. He wanted to be a senior researcher, so he would have unlimited access to the numerous scrolls. To start on the bottom rung of the hierarchy was unthinkable. It would take too long to earn the master's confidence. The signs were present that Egypt would soon come under Octavian's dominance, and Methos wanted to be long gone before war broke out.

"Before we make elaborate promises, we'll see what you can do. Nebamun, take Metopholus to the Everlasting Light Room. You will like it there," Apollonius assured Methos. "The windows are strategically placed to allow for the maximum amount of sunlight in a day. You will share it with only three others."

Methos couldn't tell if the head librarian was scolding him for his impudence, or if indeed this was a good room. "Thank you, master. It will allow me to use my time to the utmost." Methos turned to follow Nebamun when he remembered the black wool cloak and turned back to Apollonius to say, "Do you have the ear of Queen Cleopatra? I have a gift for her from the mountains of Laodicea." He pulled out the black wool bundle and saw the two men's eyes widen in appreciation.

"You must have held a place of some importance there," Apollonius commented, piercing Methos with his direct gaze.

"I did," Methos admitted.

"I will see that she gets it." The librarian went to take the cloak.

"No." Methos pulled it out of his grasp. "I would prefer to present this to her myself." The Immortal turned to his guide. "I'm ready to see my quarters now."

Apollonius nodded to Nebamun. Methos smiled inwardly. No doubt, Cleopatra would have received the gift, but the giver would have been Apollonius. He would have to watch his step. The Ptolemy dynasty were known for their lack of loyalty--to anyone--especially members of their own family. It appeared her officials shared the same philosophy.

As the two men traversed the many passageways through the library, out onto a courtyard, then into another palace building, Methos remembered the first Ptolemy and how much he had despised the man. Alexander had known his general well. Ptolemy's placement as the ruler of Egypt had been a deliberate part of Alexander's strategy to keep his newly won lands under Greek influence. The Ptolemy family had remained in power for many generations, despite their familial assassinations. Cleopatra was the first woman to head the family, and Methos was curious to meet her.

"This is where you can sleep." Nebamun led him into a large airy room with six beds made of woven reeds. Each had a wooden headrest. A vent on the roof let in the north wind. At the moment, the room was an oven. But when the sun went down, Methos was sure it cooled down nicely.

The sound of a group of men conversing together interrupted their discourse. Nebamun stepped aside as three others entered the room. They were of different nationalities, yet they all talked in Greek.

"This is Metopholus," Nebamun introduced Methos. "And this is Arqamani, Martius, and Labrienus."

Methos nodded his greetings. The three men all wore the tunic, a native form of clothing.

"Are you Roman?" Labrienus asked with suspicion clouding his voice.

"No. I come from a conquered land. A centurion named me."

The three looked at him with interest. "Do you remember the name given to you by your parents?" Martius spoke, his voice pitched high, indicating that he might be a eunuch. It was common to find them studying; their masters funded their education in order for them to better serve when the eunuchs return home. Methos laughed at the irony of a eunuch named after the god of war, Mars.

"Goibnui," Methos lied, as he named himself after the Celtic god of iron.

Nebamun inserted, "He is new here. Apollonius has placed him with you. Make sure he gets to the Clio Reading Room tomorrow. He will take up his beginning studies there."

"We will see to it," Labrienus promised.

Methos could see that this Roman was the leader of the three. He would do better to let him continue his role. "Are all the reading rooms named after a muse?" the Immortal asked.

"There are more reading rooms than muses, but yes, each muse has a room named after her. You have been assigned Clio, who presides over history. I think Apollonius wishes you to learn Egyptian history first."

Methos laughed to himself. What would the good librarian do if he learned how Methos had shaped Egyptian history? He knew in detail how Egypt overthrew the Hyksos. The warm memory of Nebet made his eyes water. It was so long ago--fifteen hundred years had passed--but it felt like yesterday.

"Metopholus, are you unwell?" Martius asked, concerned.

"I am fine," he responded. "I have dust in my eyes from my long journey."

"I'll get a basin of water for you to wash." Arqamani was speeding on his errand. This one must spend most of his time attending to the other two. His learned role of servant was deeply ingrained.

"Here you are." Arqamani placed the round bowl on the floor and back away from it.

"Thank you." Methos was grateful for the water. He dipped an edge of his tunic into the water and proceeded to wash his dusty face.

"We are going into the city now to get some refreshment and some drinks. Are you too tired," Labrienus asked snidely, "or do you wish to join us?"

"I am not too tired, only dirty." Methos wrung out the excess water and stood. "I would like to join you."

Part 2

June 1999

I

The soft buzzing brought Methos suddenly out of a sound sleep. Reality was slow to kick in. He stayed still, gathering his wits, listening carefully, but there were no sounds outside his tent.

Dispelling the memories of his time in Alexandria, he slowly sat up, unzipped the flap and gathered his tools. The moon was a crescent upon the night sky. Stars twinkled, beckoning him out into the sand. He stepped carefully out, carrying the shovel. His head darted back and forth, listening and looking for anyone else who might be awake and observing him. Satisfied that he was alone, he took a random path in the direction of his cache. Luckily, it was situated far enough away that his digging shouldn't be heard. He might even get the stuff into his car without anyone the wiser.

It took over an hour to find the old wine cask he had used to store the writings. It was too big to carry, so he withdrew all the scrolls. Their brittle condition made handling them difficult, but he had little choice. He'd have to see about preserving them later, after he got back to Paris. Excitement warred with caution as he replaced the barrel and refilled the hole with sand. Again treading silently, he crept to his car and opened the trunk. Inside he had a large portfolio case with sleeves of plastic. He unrolled the scrolls and slid the delicate calfskin and parchment within the protective wrapper. Hiding the ancient writings inside the portfolio case, he zippered it back up and silently returned to his tent.

The next morning he was up early, beating most of the younger students to the mess tent. He listened carefully to the conversations around him and paid close attention to body language, but he couldn't discern anything accusatory. Kevin Dunn and his friend Toby Nelen were the first to join Methos for breakfast. Now that he had rescued his belongings from the desert sand and pilfering fingers, he felt like a large weight had been lifted off his shoulders so he decided to stay a few more days and give them the benefit of his expertise.

As Methos consumed his breakfast, he was disconcerted to see Hawass' assistant, Slimy Sammy, walk in with Julia Harami. Of all the people to meet up with on a dig, one of the last he would have expected was the Watchers' Middle Eastern librarian. Didn't she know that someone had to do the research before she could read it in a book? With any luck he could slip out of the tent before she caught sight of him and begin a game of twenty questions. As Methos stood up, Slimy Sammy saw him and walked immediately over to him. Julia hesitantly followed.

Methos began to relax. She didn't want to talk to him. "Good morning, Dr. Farid." Then he nodded to Julia, acknowledging her presence.

"This is Dr. Harami, an expert--"

"In most things," Methos interrupted, with an innocent smile.

"An expert on ancient civilizations," Samir Farid continued as if Methos hadn't spoken. "I am taking her around so she can get a feel for this place. I'm sure there are things *she* can discover that remain hidden from our understanding."

Methos refrained from laughing, but couldn't help a quick glance at Dr. Harami to see how she was taking his arrogance. She refused to meet his look. "What would you like me to work on this morning?" the Immortal asked.

"There is an enclosure with glyphs on the walls. Why don't you photograph and sketch the small pictures, adding any translation you might be able to achieve. Take the rest of the day," Dr. Farid added magnanimously, handing him a digital camera. "Whatever you can't decipher, Julia and I will take a look at this evening."

Methos gave them a sardonic smile. "I'll try not to disappoint you."

Julia shifted from foot to foot, her eyes still refusing to meet his.

"Come, Julia," Samir commanded. "Let me show you the brewer's."

"Yes, Dr. Harami," Methos added his two cents. "Pay particular attention to the abode; beer has always been near and dear to my heart."

Her startled eyes rose and connected with his. He nodded and then strode out of the tent toward his day's assignment.

The enclosure was only a fraction of what it had been. Walls had crumbled, sun and wind disintegrating the glyphs into obscurity. Methos felt sad that so much of their lives had been erased by time. As the camera clicked, he decided to give the archeologists enough words that they would be able to work out the true meaning. Maybe it was time for the modern age to realize that slaves were not the creators of Egypt's magnificence, but rather free citizens.

It took him only an hour to photograph to walls and copy the inscriptions, but it took the better part of the afternoon to decide exactly what glyphs to interpret. He couldn't be too exact; they might question his insights. Sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, he labored with pencil and paper.

"How are you doing?" a quiet voice inquired.

Methos looked up to find Julia Harami peering down at him. "I didn't expect you to seek me out. You acted rather uncomfortable this morning."

"I was. Samir was being an ass."

"Showing off in front of you?"

"Possibly."

"Or showing yourself off to me?"

"That, too," she agreed.

Now that she had his attention, the good doctor seemed lost for words. What did she want? A slow smile crossed his face. "Are you here to write a paper on this dig? Are you looking for some inside information?"

She looked like a deer caught in front of a pair of headlights. "Um, ah, no, I'm not writing anything about this place."

"That's too bad. I've enjoyed your other papers. The ones your wrote on the Four Horsemen were brilliant. I believe you and Amy Zoll received a commendation from the Watchers on your excellent research."

She paled and took several steps backwards. "You read them?"

"Of course I did. The topic was near and dear to my heart, how could I ignore it when someone puts so much time and effort into capturing the essence of what they--we-- were." He smiled again, as she retreated a few more steps, clearly seeing a threat in his words.

"I'll leave you to your work." She turned to leave, but hesitated. "Are you being accurate in the translations?"

He admired her bravery when she was clearly scared. "I may not write everything, but what I *am* transcribing is the undiluted truth."

"Thank you." Then she scurried away.

Methos listened as her footsteps receded in the distance. He surprisingly enjoyed toying with her as much as with Amy Zoll. Both women were easily made nervous, but their inherent curiosity triumphed over their fear. Getting back to work, he scribbled down some more words. It took him another hour to finish it to his satisfaction.

When he finally stood, his legs were cramped and he limped a few steps to get the kinks out of them. Gathering the camera and notes, Methos wandered over to where his new friend Kevin was photographing a newly excavated room.

"Is there a place where we're supposed to download these pictures?" Methos asked.

"Just give the camera and notes to Dr. Hawass and he'll do it tonight and give the camera back tomorrow morning."

Methos watched for a minute as Kevin took his pictures. When the student was finished they both went to get some dinner. The immortal waited with bated breath all evening for the head of the dig to personally seek him out after looking at his translations, but it was Samir that confronted him. Julia Harami was not at his side.

"Good evening, Dr. Farid. Where is your friend?"

"She had to leave. A friend of hers was flying in from Paris."

Methos smiled at the news. Obviously Amy Zoll was on her way to check him out. He was glad that he had already rescued his belongings. It would have been difficult with two Watchers watching his every move. "Will Dr. Harami bring her friend to the dig?"

Slimy Sammy gave an impatient snort. "I am here to discuss your work today. I understand you gave the camera and notes to Dr. Hawass. You were instructed to give them to me."

Methos thought back. Had Slimy Sammy said so? He didn't remember. "I'm sorry. Would you like me to go retrieve them?"

"No, but tomorrow, please don't bother the boss with your scratchings. It is my job to collect the data."

II

Amy waited impatiently for Julia to arrive. When she and Hashira had returned from the market, there had been a message on her machine saying that Julia was leaving the site and coming back home. The sun was setting, leaving brilliant hues decorating the sky. Amy reclined on a chair by the driveway observing the different color changes. Soon the car pulled in. Amy jumped up and ran to greet her friend.

Julia got out of the car and the two women hugged. "I've got tons to tell you," Julia remarked, pulling out her small case.

"Ditto for me, too. I don't know where to begin."

"Methos talked to me. He knew exactly who I was and," her eyes widened in alarm, "he knew about us writing the Horsemen papers. How did he get access to Watcher documents?"

"Dawson," Amy spit out. "I'm sure his good friend, Joe, lets him use his computer and even takes out chronicles for him to read."

"I don't think so. Not even Mr. Dawson would let an Immortal into the Watcher database."

"Don't be too sure. Now do you know *what* he's doing there?"

"Methos acts like one of the students. There's a wall with tons of glyphs on it and Samir said that no one's been able to make heads or tails out of it. He assigned it to Methos as a joke. Boy, was he pissed when not only did Methos photograph and sketch the writings, but was able to translate at least half of it."

The two women walked into the house. "But was he writing what it really said?" Amy had to question. She doubted that Pierson even knew how to be up front about anything.

"I asked. He told me it was the 'undiluted truth.' And I believe him."

Amy reserved judgement.

"What's happening in Paris?" Julia inquired. "Did you find that Watcher who had kidnapped Nick Wolfe?"

Amy sighed. "Not only that, but Dawson killed him. The Watcher was John Murray. He kidnapped Wolfe to trade his life for Amanda's crystal. Joe says that Murray and Duncan MacLeod were fighting for the assembled Methuselah Stone when it went into MacLeod. Dawson saw them fighting, and he shot Murray in an effort to protect the Highlander."

"He's invincible now?" Julia looked stunned.

"So the old-wives tales say. MacLeod has closed himself up in the barge and won't come out. I've received two reports from Paris and both say that he's totally isolating himself."

"What does Dawson say?"

"That MacLeod won't see him, either. Keith Trenton told me that from the little he can see inside the barge's small window, MacLeod is meditating. Constantly, day and night."

"Doesn't sound good," Julia remarked as she got herself a glass of soda and then sat down on her couch. "What are you going to do?"

"Tell Pierson."

"His name is Methos. Why can't you call him that?"

"Methos is the man I investigate, my assignment. Pierson is the irritating Watcher that I have to converse with sometimes."

Julia laughed. Amy didn't think it was funny. She had to compartmentalize the man or else she'd go insane. "Pierson, or rather Methos, is MacLeod's friend," Amy said. "He might know something, being so old."

"Something to help MacLeod deal with the situation or something that proves it's all a myth?"

"Who better to dispel a myth than a myth himself?" Amy thought the argument sounded lame, but at least her friend wasn't laughing at her.

"You want me to take you over to the dig tomorrow?"

"No tonight. Can we go now? If we tell him sooner rather than later, he'll be able to get to Paris faster."

"Sounds like you're beginning to care about Duncan MacLeod. Maybe some of Joe Dawson's prejudice is rubbing off on you," Julia teased.

"I'm not concerned about MacLeod, but about the Game as a whole. Think of the ramifications if this Stone really does do what it's reported to."

III

Methos was sitting by himself outside the tent absorbing the atmosphere. He had a beer in one hand, and in the background he could hear his two friends Kevin and Toby arguing over a find. Their heated words washed over him and the contentment was more intoxicating than the beer.

A car door slammed and he saw Julia Harami and Amy Zoll get out. The two women perused the site finally catching sight of him. His contentment dissolved into irritation. They were two women on a mission and somehow it involved him. There was no place to hide so he sat waiting for them to pounce.

"Dr. Picket. We would like a word with you on your work today."

Methos slowly turned his head to find both Dr. Hawass and Slimy Sammy had descended on him from the other side of his tent. "Did I do something wrong?" As he asked the question, the women reached his other side.

Julia Harami nodded to Slimy Sammy, but Amy Zoll looked confused at Methos' defensive remark.

"We do not agree with your translations and would like to know how you arrived at them." Dr. Hawass said.

Slimy Sammy grinned in triumph. What bothered Methos more was the impatience Amy Zoll was exhibiting. She obviously wanted to speak to him and that had never really happened before. Methos turned back to the archeologists. "I used my knowledge of the evolution of Egyptian hieroglyphs to back calculate what the meanings would be." He flashed them an ingratiating smile. "Were my calculations wrong?"

Amy stepped forward. "I have worked with Dr. Picket and I can assure you that everything he says," she flashed him a knowing look, "has an element of truth. His knowledge is unsurpassed in this field and I would believe his translations. Now if you would excuse us, I have important news that I must discuss with him."

Methos was impressed at how she was able to disband the lynching party. He nodded his thanks to her. Slimy Sammy looked to Julia for help, but she sided with her friend and gave him no encouragement to continue.

Dr. Hawass gave Amy Zoll a direct look to which she responded, "I'm Dr. Zoll, curator for the Musee National des Antiques, in Paris, France, and a colleague of Dr. Harami's."

Dr. Hawass considered her words then looked back at Methos. "When you finish talking to these ladies, please come and see me so we can discuss this further."

By this time, Methos didn't care whether they believed his translation or not. He was done. It just wasn't worth justifying his work to a bunch of ignoramuses. Slimy Sammy and the boss walked away, and Methos turned his whole attention back to the two Watchers.

"I don't think we should go into it here." Julia darted looks around. "It's not secure."

Methos felt his danger antennae picking up ominous signals. Maybe he didn't want to hear what they had to say. "Just give me the bare facts and let me decide how much privacy we need."

Amy Zoll looked uncomfortable, but plunged in. "The Methuselah Stone has been assembled by a Watcher and in an effort to stop him, Duncan MacLeod absorbed it."

Methos stared at her without blinking. His mind, only half believing, worked around what she had said. The serious demeanor of the women subtly convinced him that it wasn't a joke, but he found it hard to comprehend.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Amy asked impatiently.

"I'm thinking. How is he reacting?"

"He's closed up in his barge and won't talk to anyone."

He looked at Amy. "You came to Giza to tell me this?"

"Of course," came the affronted reply. "You're his teacher and you take care of him. He needs your help now more than ever."

"Sounds like interference to me," he teased, still stalling for time in order to assimilate the facts and decide what to do.

"I do not interfere," she continued on the defensive. "I'm sorry if you think I'm getting involved in something that's none of my business."

Methos let his eyes widen in surprise. "You get involved in something that's not your business?" He let the smile spread across his face. "Isn't that in the Watcher job description?"

Amy remained tight-lipped. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Right now, I'm going back to my hotel in Cairo and check out. Tomorrow I'll fly back to Paris and pay a call on my *student*," he chucked. Imagine Amy Zoll thinking of him as MacLeod's teacher. He also had to do something about his scrolls.

"We'll see you at the hotel," Amy told him without hesitation.

Methos shrugged his shoulders as he got off his chair and began packing up his tent. The women watched him work for a few moments and then left.

Kevin came over as he was rolling up the tent. "You're leaving?"

"Manchester has recalled me. Some new text has been discovered in a church located in the fens and they want me to decipher it," he lied.

Kevin looked a bit sad as he helped Methos carry his belongings to the car. "Next time I get to England I'll look you up."

"I'll look forward to it." Methos felt a tinge of regret as he gazed at his new friend, knowing full well that Kevin would never be able to find him.

He got into his car and waved goodbye. With a last lingering look toward the pyramids and a reverent goodbye to the Sphinx, he left the site. He needed to stop in Cairo before heading back to his hotel room.

IV

"Where the hell is he?" Amy muttered, pacing back and forth across the hotel lobby. Julia sat in one of the chairs looking relaxed, but her clenched fists gave away her anxiety.

"When he gets here, do you intend to accompany him to his room?" Julia asked nervously.

Amy darted another look to the front door before answering. "Yes. I want to know what he's going to do."

"You're brave. With everything we've learned, *I* wouldn't want to be alone with him. No telling what he's capable of."

"I'm not worried about him hurting me, it's just--"

"He's larger than life?" Julia finished for her.

"I pride myself on my intelligence, yet with him, I'm floundering. I can't out-think him. I can't stay one step ahead. That frustrates the hell out of me."

"And you're just a tiny bit afraid of him."

Amy stopped in front of her friend and thought about it. "Maybe just a little," she admitted.

"Me, too. I thought I could go up to him and just talk, but I couldn't think of anything to say. I stood there like an idiot," Julia confessed.

Amy gave her a commiserating glance and then walked over to the front door, perusing the parking lot, thinking about her fear of the oldest Immortal. Her mind invariably reverted back to the incident at the submarine base when Methos had locked Melanie and herself into one of the rooms. Absently, Amy saw a car pull into a parking space. She hadn't thought she and Melanie would get out of the bunker alive. A man exited the car and it took several seconds before her brain kicked in and she recognized the occupant.

"He's here," she called out to Julia, already walking through the doors towards where Pierson was opening his trunk.

As Amy reached his car she saw a disgruntled expression cross his face then disappear immediately.

"Drs. Zoll and Harami. Shouldn't you be doing your job over there? I should at least have the appearance of privacy."

"I need to talk to you." Amy wasn't going to let him get away.

"We've talked. You've told me about MacLeod. Now leave." With a flash of anger, he slammed the trunk closed, without taking anything out. Reaching inside the car, he took out a duffel bag and, wearing his irritation like a shield, he walked away from them.

Neither woman moved until he strode out of sight.

"How come you didn't ignore his dismissal and just follow him?" Julia asked.

"I don't know. I can't tell whether he's really mad or whether he's pretending in order to get rid of us." Amy paused a second and then her hesitation gave way to humor. "Can you believe the bit about the 'appearance of privacy'? He just gets my dander up, and then my intellect goes on the fritz."

"Come on. What's done is done. Let's give him some space and then come back."

V

Methos opened the hotel room with his key and immediately dumped his archeology student bags on the floor, grabbed a beer from the fridge, stripped off his clothes and climbed into a hot shower, still drinking his beer. The hot water felt so good running off his tired back and dirty hair. He stated to feel a semblance of peace before he remembered that Amy Zoll was coming back. Boy, that Watcher hated him, but he had to admit he liked setting off her anger.

He finished bathing and went to retrieve another beer. While drinking that one he called down for room service.

"Dr. Adams, there's a message here from Joe Dawson. He needs to talk to you immediately."

"Thank you for letting me know."

Methos put down the phone and relaxed on the bed. He knew what Joe wanted. MacLeod had become invincible. Could there be any truth in the old legend? His intellect told him no, but Methos couldn't put his finger on why he knew this. The Methuselah Stone could only make mortals live a long life; where had he learned this fact? Laughing at the irony of MacLeod being the one to absorb the crystal, Methos tried to recall everything he knew about it.

His eyes closed and his mind relaxed. Subjects bounced from the time when he and Amanda had both gone after the Stone several years ago. Fond memories of Alexa replaced those of Amanda and he felt himself drift to another woman, one he hadn't seen in two thousand years: Cleopatra. Why would he think of her now? Then he bolted up in bed as he remembered the trunk-full of priceless scrolls. He needed to decide what to do about them. If he had to fly immediately to Paris, he wouldn't have time to properly preserve the ancient documents. He needed help, but could he ask Miss Priss? Could he trust her? Probably not, but he didn't see any other choice.

His eyes slowly closed once more. He hadn't had a lot of sleep the night before, between going to bed late, dreaming about… What had he dreamt about? The memory was elusive. But then, he'd had to get up and find the scrolls, which had taken a heavy chunk out of the night. By the time he'd gotten back to his tent, morning had been approaching fast. It had been a long day. A yawn erupted as his last thought formed and led his dreams backward in time.

Alexandria-c. 33 BCE

The sound of someone pounding on the door awakened him. His roommates opened heavy lids but did little else but groan. Methos stood and opened the door. Apollonius was waiting outside.

"The queen wants to see you now." He sounded disgruntled.

Methos grabbed his sack containing the woolen cloak. He would find an opportunity to present it to her. Perhaps he would sing a ballad about the sheep giving him the wool in order to honor the Egyptian queen. He laughed at the absurdity.

"You have intrigued her. You had better be up to the challenge," Apollonius told him, warningly. They entered the grand palace and ascended the stairs leading to the queen's private chambers. "I have heard of Celtic bards. Were you one?"

"I began my training before wars upon my tribe forced me to give up the endeavor. I regret not finishing my training. I had completed the waking and sleeping rituals and was attempting to memorize the tribal histories when the Romans attacked."

"You must have been but a boy." Apollonius almost sounded sympathetic for his plight.

Methos started to make another understatement when Apollonius led him through an archway. The view silenced him. Macedonian Household Guards stood at attention, eyeing them suspiciously, but doing nothing to hinder their progress. The guards were stationed at many places, acting as palace security, guides and most likely as bodyguards for the queen.

"Come in, Apollonius and Metopholus," a melodious voice entreated. "I'll be right with you."

Cleopatra was lounging on a couch, with three sides draped with white silk netting. She was reading silently from a scroll while three men in voluminous robes stood by. They said something to her in Arabic, which made her smile and nod her head. Unfortunately Methos couldn't quite hear what they had said. The three men turned abruptly and walked out through the archway.

"I've been doing statecraft since before the sun rose and now I need some relaxation time. Metopholus, would you sit right here," she pointed to a couch situated next to her, "and play me one of your songs."

"Many of the stories I recite are in the language of the Gauls. The Latin translations lose the flavor of the original ballad."

"Sing in Gaulish, then. Caesar must have listened to them countless of times while on his campaigns. He told me of the beauty of the language."

Methos doubted Caesar took the trouble to listen to the barbarians. A warlord was generally unsympathetic to the conquered. He should know. "As you wish." He began plucking the strings, finding a rhythm and searching his memory for a suitable song. It was possible that she knew this Celtic tongue and was hiding the fact to test his competence.

Inspiration assaulted him. Instead of singing a well-rehearsed ballad, a new story crept from his lips and harp. It was more of a biographical history about himself and his introduction into his adopted profession. He sang in Gaulish and let the lilting tones express the emotion.

"Soorgeh slept fitfully wondering when they would come for him. The planting moon was finally setting, leaving his room in dark and shadow. Night sounds drifted through the door, leaving him unsettled. When the sun rose, he gave grateful prayers that he could now leave his bed and begin the day.

"The druids watched him. The chief bard in his multi-colored cloak sat by the fire, playing his harp, composing quietly." Methos let memories guide his words. He was Soorgeh and everything was happening to him. Happy, joyous notes sprang from the harp as he relived those passionate days. He had been a bard, a musical historian and it was a perfect union between physical and spiritual living. Bards were not revered in these modern times. Scribes and scholars were the occupations of choice for such as him. But he remembered. To make sure he never forgot, he wrote them down, on a series of calfskin scrolls, tucked safely into his pack. His fingers left the harp.

"That was beautiful." Cleopatra clapped and stood from her couch. "You are truly gifted. I want you to live here in my palace so I may listen to your songs often."

"I would like to, but I need to study. My current quarters suit me and I would prefer to stay with my fellow students. The occasional visit here, in the evenings or mornings would be pleasant, if you wish."

Her face took on a pout. Worried, he decided that this was the perfect time to present her with the gift. "I have something for you," he told her. Moving off the couch, he retrieved the bundle he had dropped and unrolled it. The black wool cape was exposed for her to admire. "This is for you, my queen. In the hills surrounding Laodicea, black sheep were plentiful. I--"

"I have heard of that place." She reached down and picked up the cloak. "It is so soft--and warm," she giggled. "Thank you, Metopholus. Your gift is accepted and appreciated. Mornings or evenings--I pick mornings. I will send Apollonius for you. After my song, you can study. I know your evenings will be spent in the city at the many taverns and pleasure houses." She nodded to him, briefly closing her eyes in dismissal, and walked through another doorway, out of sight.

"Come, we will go to the library; you have much to read," Apollonius told him curtly. Methos followed obediently.

They left the queen's rooms and walked through the courtyard. The sun was already sending hot rays to the earth below, and he was soaked in sweat by the time he entered the shaded reading rooms. Slaves were scattered among the tables, holding gigantic feathers, fanning the scholars as they worked. Methos hardly glanced at them before leaving them behind and searching for Nebamun.

Methos came up upon him inside the Polyhymnia reading room. Nebamun was seated at a table with several scrolls in front of him, copying one onto fresh parchment. "Metapholus, were you looking for me?"

"Yes, I was. I have been concentrating on medicine and science. I have realized that many of the works are in rough condition. Are these the only drafts in the world, or are others scattered in Athens and Rome?"

"That is a good question. We pride ourselves on the fact that we have the originals of many great works. There are numerous copies in the world, but we try and keep the ones truly written by the authors in this great library."

"Which are the ones that have no copies in the world? Aren't you afraid that they could become lost?"

"Why do you ask, Metopholus?" His eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.

"I was thinking that I could spend part of my day making copies." Methos looked at what Nebamun was writing, "As what you seem to be doing now. I fear the loss of great masterpieces."

"I could use the help. Scholars from around the world have requested copies, and it has been my life's work to fill these orders. Olympos is to leave for Rome in a short while, and I have been commissioned to copy several medical treatises for him to take. You can help me with those. After his departure we will tackle other subjects. Does this please you?"

Methos smiled. It pleased him well. "I will do as you recommend." As he started his new work, he vowed to make copies of particular scrolls for his own personal collection. When Octavian made war on Alexandria, Methos would be ready. All the most precious of manuscripts would be hidden deep in the desert where the Roman war parties wouldn't be able to pillage and burn them. The Museion had been almost destroyed once before; at least now, many of the greatest works would be preserved outside of the city.

Part 3

I

June, 1999

The knocking on the door woke him from a sound sleep. Methos was totally disoriented. He rubbed his sleep-gritted eyes. The knocking continued while he gathered his wits.

"I know you're in there, Pierson," the voice called out from the other side of the door.

He slumped back down in bed.

"There's food on a tray sitting out here. It sure smells good."

Reluctantly he sat up once more and proceeded to the door and flung it open. Amy Zoll, red faced and exceedingly angry, greeted him holding his tray of food. "Come in," he told her, abruptly taking the tray and carrying it over to the table. As he passed the huge mirror behind the hotel's dresser, he got a glimpse of his now dried hair, sticking up in all angles. He looked a sight.

"Did I wake you?" she asked in a voice that almost sounded pleased.

"Yes." He sat and began eating.

His nonchalant attitude made her squirm a bit. First she paced, and then she sat primly on one of the chairs opposite to him at the table.

"Were you hoping I'd go away if you didn't answer the door?" she asked.

Methos could see her hand shaking, whether from fear or from just intense emotion he couldn't tell, but she was determined. "Would it have worked?" he asked innocently.

She scowled back. "No. Have you talked to Joe Dawson yet?"

"There's a message at the front desk that he needs to speak to me but I fell asleep." Methos hated it when he sounded defensive. He began to remember his dream. Ancient Egypt. Museion scrolls. Weren't they the ones in his car?

"What are you going to do about it?" Amy asked.

He didn't really hear her. His brain was sifting through facts and memories, trying to find a connecting thread. Wasn't there something in those scrolls about the Methuselah Stone and its history?

Alexandria- c. 31 BCE

News of Antony's defeat in Actium spread quickly in Alexandria. The only thing that was more newsworthy was how the famous general dealt with the loss--he hid. Methos could see a trend in Antony's actions. With victory, he journeyed to Rome to proclaim the news, but in defeat, he buried his head figuratively in Cleopatra's bosom. Methos shook his head in disgust.

The only important fact to come from this intelligence was that his time at the famous library was now drawing to a close. Lately, he had been working at copying the scrolls for a new purpose. Antony gave Cleopatra an exorbitant gift of the library in Pergamon. All their scrolls were sent to Alexandria. Feeling pleased, yet guilty, she asked Nebamun to make copies of their precious scrolls to send back. Methos was recruited to this purpose. This way both libraries benefited.

The Museion was crowded. The marble tables were filled with unrolled scrolls and people reading them. Methos wandered from the main room and headed through the familiar archways to the Clio reading room. Nebamun was seated, copying from one scroll onto a blank piece of parchment.

"Metopholus. I am overloaded with things I must finish today. Would you copy the Maxims of Ptahhotpe? The queen wants it for Caesarian."

Methos dutifully sat and began the arduous business of copying the boring primer. What did the young prince need with it? It was something he must have studied years ago. Maybe Cleopatra needed to make a point? With precise strokes, Methos wrote, "Teach him what has been said in the past, then he will set a good example to the children of the magistrates, and judgement and all exactitude shall enter into him." What king ever listened to good advice? When Caesarian ascended the throne of Egypt, his entire being would be obsessed with Rome--if he lived that long. Methos believed that Octavian would never allow it.

As he was finishing the last line, an immortal presence overwhelmed him. Stilling his involuntary panic, he rose from his seat and strode to the door. A Roman general was walking into the main reading room, followed by two Macedonian House Guards, acting as guides. The immortal general looked up, but already Methos had fled the doorway.

"Excuse me, Nebamun, I need some refreshment. I shall return shortly." He bowed his head and slid out the side door into a storage room. Without sparing a glance at the labeled scrolls, he strode through the room and out the opposite door from which he had entered. He found himself in a maze of one room leading off of another, all lined with scroll sockets. Then he entered one without another door--a dead end. To his great surprise he found that it was almost devoid of scrolls. The suddenness of the emptied room made him stop short. The Immortal presence had stopped, so the escape imperative had dwindled and curiosity overtook him.

The shelves were lined in dust. Even the floor showed the imprints from his sandals. All three walls of the small room were lined with shelves, but the sockets were empty except for a single shelf on the left side. He lifted out a scroll and unrolled it. The skin was darkened and brittle, showing it to be a very old document. Parts broke off and fell into the dust. The script was Hebrew, possibly more than 500 years old. Methos felt himself sink to the floor and ignored the dust as it rose up around him. His mind was already buried deep in the story.

June, 1999

"Pierson? Are you okay?"

The immortal jumped, his mind ripped from his memories back into the present. "I'm thinking. Remember, I just woke up. My mind is not fully in the here and now."

Methos thought about the pile of Egyptian texts and his personal journals back in his car. There had to be something in them--something that might help MacLeod. His eyes were steady on the Watcher as he debated with himself the wisdom of what he was about to suggest. She wasn't his greatest ally, but she wasn't his greatest critic either. In a weird kind of way, she was still a colleague.

"What?" she asked at his continued stare.

"I have a pile of--"

"You're going to blow him off?!" Amy, interrupted, looking at him incredulously. "I can't believe it. He's your friend. MacLeod has stuck by you when--"

"Do you think I could finish my sentence before you lambaste me with your righteous indignation?" he asked, stopping her flow of words.

"Fine," she spit out.

"The reason I went to the site at Giza was because I needed to retrieve some of my things I had buried there. There are scrolls that I copied from the great Library in Alexandria while Cleopatra was queen. They need preserving. Some of the texts are just personal journals that I kept during my time there. They're in my car right now." He could see her ire change to curiosity. He had her hooked. "They need to be taken care of--"

"Julia's gonna love them."

"Right. Some are mine," he stressed. "They're nobody's business but mine--understand?"

"Yep." She looked eagerly over at the table and floor.

"Will you help me carry them up? I think there are a couple that might deal with the Methuselah Stone."

"They mention it by name?" She looked awed.

"I'm not sure. I haven't thought of those scrolls in two thousand years. I don't remember what's exactly on them."

"Then let's go bring 'em up."

II

Amy couldn't believe her good luck. Pierson--uh--Methos was going to let her look through some of his personal stuff. Stuff over two thousand years old. She carefully reined in her exuberance and showed only her stoic self. Together they made two trips from the room to the car and back again. Many of the delicate calfskins had already began decaying, although the glyphs and lettering still remained clear. They made piles on the bed. When they were finished, Methos picked through some of the scrolls and put them on the floor on the other side of the bed.

He pointed to it. "Those are my personal journals, don't touch."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she responded sarcastically, but still looked over at them with longing.

"The rest of this stuff is what I copied from the original writings housed in the Alexandrian library at the Museion. Most are medical garbage." She started to protest, but he wouldn't let her. "I know I have some epic poetry and historical documents, but there is one scroll I am eager to find." He paused.

"The one on the Methuselah Stone," she added eagerly, feeling the excitement churning inside.

He smiled. "Not exactly. Back when I worked at the Museion, I found a series of scrolls that were written several centuries before Cleopatra was born. Mostly they're about biblical characters. Each in some way mention a group of crystals that give mortals long life."

Her eyes widened at the revelation. "There was more than one?"

"It appears so. I read them all and either took notes on a separate scroll or copied them. That's what we need to find. Obviously, time is of the essence. We wouldn't want MacLeod to wander around any longer than he has to, believing he's invincible."

"You don't think he is?"

"Of course not," he answered, but there was a shred of unease trickling down his spine. He *really* needed to find the whole set.

"Well, then let's get to it," she said, pulling a chair over to the bed. "What languages are these in?"

"Mostly Greek, some Aramaic. I don't know. If you can't read it, put it back in the jumble and I'll get to it."

She picked up one of the scrolls and unrolled it. Methos did the same. She skimmed it reverently and found it to be an Egyptian god's epic. Not what she was looking for but fascinating all the same.

"Don't dally on worthless stories."

She felt like sticking her tongue out at him. He unceremoniously tossed one onto the floor. Her body flinched at his casual attitude toward this treasure.

"Put the ones we've discarded over here," he said, pointing to his beginning pile.

She nodded and picked up another scroll.

For the next hour they worked in silence, with only the scratching of parchment and skins making any noise. Methos got up and went to the fridge for some beer. "Want any?" he asked, holding a second bottle up for her.

She looked at it dubiously. "Is there any soda or fruit juice in there?"

"Orange juice, tomato juice, little bottles of liquor and beer. Those are your choices."

"Orange juice, then."

He handed the little can to her and returned to his seat. She would have liked a glass, but figured that little courtesy was beyond him. His mind was once more focused totally on the text before him. She took the opportunity to stare at him. This man was over five thousand years old. He had done unspeakable evil and yet he didn't seem capable of it now. Julia thought she was afraid of him, and Amy was, but not physically. It was an emotional fear. He was on a plane so far above her that she got a crick in her neck looking up. What must it be like for him to socialize with people so much more innocent, unworldly, than he?

"Pierson?" she asked, setting down the juice. "Does this really irk you, you know, working with me?"

"No," he responded, curtly.

She could tell he wasn't really paying attention. "Why did you lock us in that room at the submarine base?"

Methos looked up from the scroll he had just read. His inscrutable eyes bored into her. "Kronos made it a habit to patrol through the base, as a way of thinking. He had told me that it cleared his mind, being in a place so dedicated to war. I scoffed and sat in my chair reading a book. Then I thought about you silly Watchers and what lengths you would go to spy. So I told him that on second thought I liked the idea and copied him, but headed in the direction I thought would be the most probably entry point. I was right and I found you."

"Why didn't you give us to Kronos?"

"What for? That would have opened up a whole other can of worms. Trying to deal with a pissed off Highlander, a murderous witch and an insane megalomaniac was enough, thank you very much."

That shut her up. He reached for another scroll. She blinked and reached for another scroll herself. This one seemed different. It was written in Aramaic and as she read, it came clear that it was about Constantine. "Marcus," she whispered softly. The words were acerbic, detailing the Roman general's obsession with a woman who despised him.

"Did you find something?"

Damn, he had noticed that she had been engrossed in this particular writing. "I'm a historian. Everything interests me."

Carefully she put the scroll down next to her feet instead of the growing discard pile. The next one she selected was written in a language she didn't understand. "What's this one?" she asked handing it to Methos.

He looked at it, closed his eyes for a minute and looked at it again. "It's Manetho's dissertation on the beginning of time. The original was kept at Heliopolis, but someone must have smuggled in a copy."

"Wasn't he the man commissioned by the first Ptolemy to write a history of Egypt and compile a list of all the pharaohs?"

"Yes. But it looks like he did more. This particular piece was extremely scandalous in its day."

"It gave substance to the idea of one God, not the pantheon of gods the Greeks and Romans believed in."

"Egyptians, too. They had many gods and never truly understood Judaism."

She nodded and took a sip of her juice. Her watch binged again, telling her that it was getting late. The sun was almost gone. Suddenly Methos stiffened in his seat.

"Did you find something?"

His eyes moved along the page, but he didn't seem to hear her. She pulled another roll off the bed and perused it with only half of her concentration. Epic poetry. Methos did say there was a lot of it in here.

"Dr. Zoll. I think it's time we called it a night. I've decided to let you and Julia handle all this mess."

"Mess?"

"Preservation of these priceless artifacts. You need to contact whoever is in charge of that in Cairo."

"And you?"

"I need to think and I can't do that with you interrupting me every two minutes."

"You found what you were looking for," she stated. He didn't need her anymore and now it was time to get rid of the bothersome Watcher. "But what does it say about the crystal? How's it going to help MacLeod?" she asked, her eyes burning with curiosity.

"I don't know. That's why I have to think. Come back tomorrow morning."

He practically shooed her out. She was surprised that he didn't pick her up and throw her body out the door. In a motion of defiance, she slipped the scroll on Constantine in her coat, picked up her purse and left. She didn't even consider it stealing since he had said he would let her have it all tomorrow.

III

Heading back to his seat, Methos picked up the parchment he had been reading. It was part of the grouping of scrolls that had included Manetho's dissertation. What Dr. Zoll hadn't noticed was that there were more than one in the set. Not only had the ancient scholar written about the pharaohs, he had written about Old Testament characters. Methos' hands were shaking with excitement. This particular scroll described the life of Enoch. The next described the great flood and Noah's family. The treasure trove contained five scrolls in all, with a sixth containing his own personal notes on the five. He carefully moved the five off the table and unrolled the sixth. His mind swirled as he remembered first reading about these ancient people.

Alexandria-c. 31 BCE

The dusty room was forgotten as the strange tale unfolded itself within the ancient script. It described an ancient magic that enabled two men named Noah and Methuselah to live longer than their paltry scores of years. It allowed them to become as old as an immortal. Methos carefully set the scroll down and picked up another. This too described a history: the sons of Cain and how that line died out because they lost the favor of God. The next talked of the great flood, which purged the earth of impurities and allowed only Seth's descendants to survive and repopulate the land.

Every single scroll contained some reference to the beginning of time--and implied that the Jewish Torah spoke the truth about creation. No wonder the Egyptians had buried the history. It was heresy to deny Osirus and Isis and the multiple gods that the Egyptians worshipped. Methos carefully re-rolled the precious documents and began to formulate a plan to copy them for his own reference. If the Romans ever discovered this treasure they would quickly burn it. He had to keep the works safe.

The hallways were still empty as Methos made his way back to the reading room.

"Were you caught in a sandstorm?" Nebamun asked, eyebrow raised and a grimace of distaste upon his face.

Methos looked at his dust-coated tunic. He was filthy. "A formation of the Roman cavalry rode past me on the road," Methos lied. "I was in such a hurry to return that I didn't notice that--"

"It doesn't matter. Have you finished the Maxims?"

"I have." Methos had left the parchment drying when he had made his escape from the other Immortal. "Here," he said as he handed it to Nebamun.

Nebamun nodded. "You are excused. I have much work to finish today."

Methos walked out of the room. Hidden alongside his sword was one of the ancient scrolls that he had "borrowed" from the deserted storage room. He would copy the scroll tonight.

Methos walked through Alexandria, conscious of the ancient scroll hidden on his person. He walked down the marble steps, out onto the city street. Tied to his waist, a sack dangled, containing his brushes and ink--the personal property of any scribe. However, he didn't own any parchment. The skins were for his personal journal. His first order of business was to purchase something to write on.

Venders hawked their wares on the street. What he wanted was a little shop near the Temple of Serapis. Arqamani had recommended the place as having the best quality in Alexandria. Methos was able to find the store without difficulty. People of different ethnic origins loitered outside the door.

"Excuse me. Is Aton inside?" Methos inquired of the Arab, who stood erect with his white voluminous robes billowing around him. For a second, the immortal admired the idea of such a large area in which to hide weapons and personal items close to his body. Maybe in his next incarnation, he would adopt desert dress.

"He is. The slave, Harrab, is inside negotiating for a bundle of scrolls for his master. You must wait your turn."

Methos spent his time watching the many citizens of Egypt along the road. Women carried food back to their homes to cook the evening meal. The temple itself was on the only naturally occurring hill. The grounds sloped upward from where he stood. Priests wearing scarlet robes went dutifully about their business of collecting tributes and offerings for their god. The statue of Serapis was imposing, casting a long shadow where many of the faithful knelt and prayed.

Someone tapped on his back. "It is your turn," a young boy told him. Methos followed him into a small mud shack, where an old man had different grades of flat sheets on a table.

"No barter, only coin," the old man told him in broken Greek.

"I have money," Methos replied in faultless Egyptian.

The man beamed, showing a missing tooth. "I have more--better," he said and brought out another pile of scrolls. "You work for the queen?"

"No, at the library," Methos told him absently as he perused the different stacks.

"The Museion." He nodded knowledgeably. "My nephew is there."

"I'll take this bunch." Methos pulled out his moneybag and counted out several denarii.

Again the man beamed. "Come again."

Methos left the little hut and walked up the steep hill to the temple. Priests glanced his way, but the immortal ignored them. At the top, he looked out over the horizon and saw the Lake Mareotis. He would work there, until dark.

The walk was long in the hot sun, but worth it as he sat by the bank and took out the scroll he had absconded with. Using rocks to weigh the parchment down, he began the laborious process of copying it. The ancient words danced across his mind as he wrote. An unbelievable story began to unfold. Perspiration dripped down his face, along with tears from burning eyes as he squinted in the darkness trying to get one last word down. Gently blowing on what he had just finished, he saw the stars come out. He was in total darkness, but he didn't dare leave until the parchment had dried enough not to smear as he rolled it up. While waiting, he cleaned up his brushes in the lake and placed them and the jar of ink back in his bag.

The next day, Methos was able to return the ancient scroll and gather two other ones. He worked diligently for Nebamun until the midday heat, and then escaped detection by working in the abandoned room. Since there were so many scroll sockets in the dusty room, he decided to leave his copies there until he found a suitable hiding place.

Later that night, as he ate, an idea formed in his mind. He would bury the scrolls in the desert and retrieve them when the danger was over. In fact, he thought as he munched on the remaining slice of bread, he had the perfect spot. There was a place he used to live in, many centuries ago, which was now buried in the sand. No one knew about it; no one would even think to look for it. The giant sphinx guarded the area, and only the weary traveler went near the location. Methos smiled as he took the last sip of his Pramnian wine.

The next day, he eagerly made his way up the marble steps into the learning sanctuary. He loved the smell of scrolls as they unfurled their knowledge to the reader. A sense of great loss assailed him as he walked the corridors and realized that the library might soon be gone.

Methos entered the Polyhymnia reading room, where Nebamun was supposed to meet him, but the Egyptian wasn't there. The room was empty. Methos turned around and went to look for Apollonius, but the head librarian found him first.

"Metopholus. I have just come from the queen. Nebamun is working with her today, so he doesn't require your services." Apollonius smiled. "He is pleased with the work you have done for him. I saw the scroll you wrote on the eye salve. It was done in great detail so even the beginner physician could make and use the medicine. Thank you for your contribution."

"You're welcome. I am happy that my work meets your expectations."

"Go now and read. I know you have desired time to cater to your whimsy. You are free to work on your private education."

Methos felt his heart race at the news. "Thank you. I will use the time wisely."

Apollonius nodded and gave him a conspiratorial smile and went back to his duties. Methos went directly to the back room with the ancient scrolls. In the room just adjacent to it, he found a table and dragged it into the small room. He pulled out one of his new, unused pieces of parchment and laid it on the table. Next he took out several of the scrolls from the top shelf, previously sorted, so that he could peruse them together. Each hinted at an ancient magic, and he was hoping that he could find the common thread and elucidate the nature of that magic.

Spacing the five different scrolls on the floor, he looked from one to another. Each scroll told the life story of a different man. What excited Methos' interest was that these men seemed to have lived beyond what was normal for mortals. Were these the first immortals to walk the earth? Yet in each case, the men were described to have grown old before they died. There was no mention of sword fights. The only thing they had in common was the white ball of light that they referred to as the Spirit of God. Sometimes that ball broke into shards of crystal, which family members used to adorn themselves. In other instances the ball disappeared into another man. Methos was perplexed on how this could happen. Was it similar to a quickening?

He read further. The man Enoch stated that only if the group of shards was assembled correctly would the physical turn into the Spirit and be able to penetrate a man's skin. Nowhere could Methos find a reason for why the ball sometimes went directly into a man and in others, it broke into pieces. As Methos read bits from one scroll and then another, he noticed that having the ability to produce this Spirit of God coincided with the man's death. As he died, the light burst from his chest and directed itself into another or broke into pieces to be assembled later. When a man accepted this Spirit of God, he subsequently lived to a very old age. Carefully, Methos read each text and tried to determine how many of the balls of light existed.

Adam had the first one. When he died at the age of 930 years, the light entered a man named Lamech, who subsequently lived 777 years. Seth had one and he lived to be 912 years. It appeared that his broke into the shards of crystal and were reconstituted later to enter Noah. Others, such as Mahalaleel, Jared and Enoch were described to have lived long lives, but where their spirits went was not mentioned.

Methusaleh's crystal, on the other hand, had been extensively written about. It had been saved and taken on the ark by Noah as a memorial to his grandfather. It was not given to another man. After the great flood, the lengths of the lives of men were lessened. Instead of seven to nine hundred years, they only lived two to four hundred years and the total years kept decreasing. Did the power of God's Spirit decrease with use?

Methos thought back. Did he remember the flood? He had very faint memories of stories about the water that washed the world, but he didn't remember the flood itself. In the last section of the scroll, he described exactly how Methusaleh's crystal should be assembled. Using his brush and ink, he was able to diagram the directions exactly as Enoch had previously instructed and Manetho paraphrased. With reverent strokes Methos copied the picture exactly, adding colors when needed. He hoped it was accurate in case he ever found the crystal himself.

When he had finished, he let the parchment dry. The texts he had been reading from had already been copied and taken to the safe container in the desert. Methos looked at the rest of the scrolls in the room. He believed that all the rest had been dutifully done also. He was done here. If time permitted, he would explore more of the library and see if he could find more of these hidden alcoves.

Capping his ink and putting it and the brush away, he also rolled the now-dry scroll and hid it in the folds of his tunic. He had no idea of the time, and knew he had better return before someone noticed that he was missing. Stepping from the room, he made his way to the main part of the Museion. His thoughts were still churning with the discoveries he had made. What did they all mean?

IV

June 1999

It had been a busy morning for Amy and Julia. They had stopped by the Northern African Watcher Headquarters and picked up several airtight cases in which to place the fragile scrolls. All of the Egyptian experts there, were eagerly waiting for the newest treasure to come into their hands. During a late night meeting they had decided to keep the info within the Watchers until they had verified that the material was suited for the general public. Hashira and several other experts wanted to accompany the two women, but Amy explained how shy Methos was and how he really didn't want a lot of Watcher gawkers. Amy could see the laughter in Julia's eyes after that statement.

They arrived at the hotel, commandeered a luggage cart and placed their special cases on it to take to the room. Other than a few odd glances, no one interfered.

"You think he'll change his mind?" Julia asked, concerned.

"Like the scrolls might be gone and he's sitting in his room just waiting to tell us it was a big joke?"

"It's something to think about. You did say he was in a hurry to get rid of you last night. He might have found something he doesn't want anyone to know about."

"Judging from what he's said, most of the stuff he copied were general texts, not anything to do with immortals or even Watchers. He did say that some of his personal journals were there, but I bet he spent all night separating them and hiding them in his car."

"Except for the one on Marcus?" Julia gently chided.

Amy blushed slightly, then deliberately changed the subject. "I wonder if he found anything to help MacLeod?"

"Things look grim. I can't believe that after almost a week, he's still not coming out of the barge or agreeing to see anyone."

"Yeah, even Dawson." Their whole relationship still grated on her nerves.

"Why do you sound so jealous? You had a great relationship with Marcus. He both liked and respected you."

"I am not jealous," Amy retorted.

"Maybe it's because MacLeod knows that Dawson's his Watcher and Marcus didn't have a clue about you."

The elevator doors slid open. Amy dismissed her friend's observations and concentrated on what was ahead. Pierson's door was wide open. That didn't bode well. They wheeled the cart to the entrance and both women stared in amazement. The oldest Immortal was dressed in a three-piece business suit and had a small carry-on case sitting at his feet.

"About time you ladies got here. The scrolls I'm giving you are piled on the other side of the bed. I'm about to catch a plane for Paris and try and deal with the train-wreck that used to be the Highlander. When you finish doing whatever, just hand in the key. I'll check out as I leave."

Amy stood there dumbfounded. He was leaving? "Aren't you going to go over what the scrolls are?"

"I'm sure the Watchers have their own professionals who can do that, including you two. I really can't take the time to label all of them. Just be happy that I'm giving them to you at all."

"But-- but--," Amy stuttered.

"Thank you, Mr. Pierson," Julia cut in.

Methos gave them both an enigmatic smile and walked out of the room.

"We'd better get to work so you can take the next flight to France," Julia interjected, dragging Amy from her disappointment.

"I was hoping to learn more from him."

"Next time." Julia dragged the cart all the way in the room and closed the door. Soon the women became so engrossed in the collection that they forgot all about time.

V

In Paris, Methos used his key to enter the spacious apartment that he had been renting for the past two years, in which he had spent very little time. Dust covered most everything, with footprints leading from the door, into his bedroom, to his closet and to the bed. It had been freshly made and slept in--maybe once. A note was pinned to the pillow.

Found the backpack with my notes. Everything is there.

On my way down to South Africa and the NIV. I cleared

up our misunderstandings by explaining that I was a relative

of Serena Mandeville and have uncovered her notes. They're

welcoming me with open arms. I'm close--really close to

finding that vaccine. I'll be in touch.

Rena

Methos smiled as he crumpled up the note and stuffed it into his pocket. Turning on his stereo, he plopped several CDs in and began the arduous chore of cleaning. Several of his friends had told him to get a cleaning service, but with the amount of ancient, secret belongings stored in the apartment, he was afraid of both theft and discovery. Not to mention how he would explain to the authorities that it all really did belong to him and had not been stolen from some museum somewhere. Which. of course, some had been.

Taking a quick break, he ordered some food from the local bistro and had it delivered. After he considered his abode dust free, and his stomach had also been satisfied, he took out the large portfolio case and spread the contents over the oriental carpet in the living room. The only thing missing from the collection was the diagram of how to put the Methuselah Stone together. That was because he had never put it in the wine cask in the desert, but had kept it with his person. Then it had been stolen around the same time he had tried to obtain it to save Alexa's life. Now he had a good idea who had taken it: the demented Watcher, Murray.

Methos spread the scrolls out and tried to see if he could come up with anything to help MacLeod. In truth, only the history was there. No one had written of what would happen if the Spirit of God entered an Immortal, at least not in a library run by mortals. The Watchers didn't have such a book either. He had checked.

What would the great MacLeod be thinking, knowing that the Methuselah Stone had merged with him? He would be scared. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Just wanting the power is the first step to corruption. MacLeod hadn't desired it, but now he had it. Would it change him? That was probably what kept Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod up at night. He wouldn't want to change. He was very comfortable in his old chivalrous coat. Would believing he had the power force him to change?

Methos dropped his eyes to the document in his hand. The fancy script brought him back to the little corner room in the Museion that everyone had forgotten. He would reread the collection of Manetho's texts. Maybe he had missed something last night. Enoch was reportedly the source of early biblical information. This was true today and seemed to have been true twenty-five hundred years ago, according to Manetho. How had Manetho obtained Enoch's words? Methos wished he knew the answer to that one.

The ringing of the telephone broke into Methos' thoughts. The answering machine kicked in.

"Pierson's gone. Leave a message and maybe I'll return it," the box said.

"Adam, this is Joe. I really need to see you. Call me when you get back--"

Methos picked up the phone. "Hello, Joe."

"We've got a real emergency on our hands," the Watcher said without preamble.

"It's nice to hear your voice, too, Joe. What's the emergency? MacLeod gone off the deep end or something?"

There was silence on the other end. "You know what happened?" Joe asked tentatively.

"I had a visit from Dr. Amy Zoll down in Cairo. She came pounding on my door, demanding to be let in."

"Persistent, isn't she?" Joe remarked.

Methos could hear the laughter lurking in his voice. "I don't think she likes me, Joe."

"Tell me about it," the Watcher responded. "What did she want?"

"Same as you, I suspect--answers about the Methuselah Stone."

"Do ya have any?"

"I've just recovered some old texts from Egypt."

"All we got is an old diagram that shows how to put the crystal together."

"I take it you got it from Murray?" he asked, voice cold.

Joe continued, "Yep. He worked for years finding and assembling all the pieces."

"Where did *he* get the diagram from?" Methos needed to know if anyone else had seen the document.

"He told us that he stole it from you, well, from Adam Pierson's apartment. That's how he found out how many pieces there were, and when he had them all except for Amanda's."

Methos felt the tension leave his body. "Is MacLeod with you?"

"No, he's spending a lot of time alone. He's afraid of what's inside him."

"You're not telling me that he believes all that garbage about being invincible?"

"Well, yes." Joe sounded unsure of himself. "Are you saying that you have proof that it's not?"

"Come on, Joe. You know that no matter how strong or how smart or how lucky a person is, someone can always cheat. Then you're just as dead. MacLeod could be the best sword fighter, be inexhaustible, but is he proof against a long-range bullet though the heart? In mortal death, anyone can chop off his head."

"What if the Methuselah Stone's energy allows the sword to go through the neck without severing it from the body? What if the long-range bullet doesn't bring about mortal death?

Methos paused. "Has that happened?"

"Not yet. But it might."

Methos' mind was racing. He firmly believed that the crystal could prolong mortal life. It didn't make them immortal; it only slowed down aging. It was an ancient magic made *for* mortals and *only* for them. What would happen when it merged with an Immortal? "Did you see it, Joe?"

"I didn't see it go into Mac, but he was screaming bloody murder. Amanda said it was like a very powerful quickening. The crystal turned into a ball of energy and went right inside his chest."

Doubt crept in. Could MacLeod have this new power? "Is he at the barge?" Methos asked, now determined to find out for himself.

"Yes. But he's not seeing visitors."

"He'll see me," Methos assured him.

Immortals didn't need the kind of magic the Methuselah Stone represented, Methos told himself as he retrieved his pistol from a drawer and slid it into a pocket. His sword was in his coat. Fully armed, he headed to the barge to confirm his belief.

The Immortal presence hit him as he neared MacLeod's home. He was careful not to speak and warn the other immortal of who was there, but let the mutual awareness speak for itself. The door didn't budge and he could hear no signs of movement inside. Methos took out his gun, then kicked the door open. The sound of the screws hitting the floor echoed in the silence.

MacLeod had his back to the door, but his katana was swirling in the air. Methos was relieved to see that the Highlander had not forsaken his weapon in favor of his new invincibility.

"Leave. You cannot hope to win." MacLeod's voice throbbed with pain.

"Depends upon my aim," Methos replied, causing the Highlander to pivot abruptly and face him.

Instantly Methos shot him in the heart. MacLeod touched his chest, blood coating his hand. "Am I an abomination, now?" Then he sank to the floor in mortal death.

"No, you're pretty much what you've always been," Methos told the dead body. "A pig-headed, gullible, clan-leader. But not--invincible."

Methos walked to the fridge and took out a beer. Making himself comfortable on the couch, he waited. It didn't take long. Only half of the bottle had been depleted before MacLeod took that first shuddering breath and heaved himself into a sitting position. Methos met accusing eyes calmly. "For someone who thinks he can't die, you did a good job of it just now."

"Why did you do that?" the Highlander asked.

"Joe said something about dreams of grandeur. I set out to prove them wrong."

"What's that supposed to mean?" MacLeod got off the floor and went to retrieve himself a beer. As he started to pop the cap, he paused and put it back in the fridge. Instead he brought out a bottle of single-malt whisky and two glasses, pouring some for himself.

Methos laughed. "It's been a tough week. First you're thinking that all the old wives' tales are correct and you have infinite power, and next you find yourself dead on the floor of your own home. Quite a let-down, I know."

"Methos. Do you know something about this?"

"I happen to know quite a lot." MacLeod's eyes darkened in impatient anger. "Okay. I'll tell you what I know."

Methos grabbed the bottle of whiskey and the other glass. "You're a Catholic, so you probably know the Bible better than I do. At the beginning of time, God created man."

"Yes, I do know that story." His tone was one of impatience mixed with resignation.

"In God's infinite wisdom, he allowed this first mortal to live a very long life. Some say as long as 930 years. During Adam's life he sired three sons: Cain, Abel and Seth. As punishment for killing his brother, Cain's line died out. Only the descendants of Seth survived. When Adam was 687 years old, Methuselah was born. This mortal too, lived a long life, 969 years in total."

"I do know all this. Not the exact ages, but I knew they were old when they died."

"Do you know why they lived such a long time?"

"The spirit of God," MacLeod answered without needing the think.

Methos was stunned, but hid it. "You're right. The Spirit of God. This Spirit was able to be transferred from mortal to mortal by way of a ball of energy, of multiple shards of crystal that when assembled correctly became that Spirit. After being used many times, the spirit weakened, and God's grace became diluted. Only Methuselah's remained strong, because Noah preserved it. His grandfather would not be on the ark, and to remember and revere him, Noah decreed that his Spirit would remain always in crystal form. How it went from relic to the necklaces that Rebecca handed out, I don't know." Methos paused, letting MacLeod soak in what he'd just been told.

"Things happen for a reason. You were a champion who defeated Ahriman. Maybe there's something inside you that's drawn to good versus evil fights. I don't know. That quickening you took was not something that would make you invincible, but maybe to keep your soul pure. Or maybe only a pure soul could house the thing. In anyone else, it would kill. Your guess is as good as mine."

Methos stood up and drew his sword and laid it upon MacLeod's shoulders. "But don't ever think that the energy inside you can prevent a blade from slicing off your head." Methos let the edge slice the skin and draw some blood. To his surprise, no blood came out. Skillfully hiding his shock, he went on with his lecture. "You are still immortal and can still die."

Methos sat down quickly, taking another shot and downing it quickly. He truly believed what he had just told his friend and would not accept any other reasoning. It was in MacLeod's best interest to believe it, too.

"So, I've been blessed by God himself?" MacLeod said, with awe in his voice.

"Yep, that sums it up. A blessing is not invincibility. I've already showed you that you could die."

MacLeod's posture went from one of defeat, to one of importance. He held his head up and looked to be the proud warrior he was. Methos was relieved at the transformation. His friend had been through a lot in the past few years. Maybe things would settle down now.

"Let's go see Joe," Methos suggested. "I know he'll be happy to see his old friend back."

As they walked out the door, MacLeod looked at his broken lock. "You gonna fix this?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Methos replied. The oldest immortal glanced at the neck of his friend as they walked. Was it possible that the crystal had more magic than he knew? If it did, there was no better host on the planet for it to be in, he consoled himself.

The End

Author's Notes:

1. The scene at the excavation was taken from a PBS special-Secrets of the Pharaohs. Some of the names were also taken from there. The idea that the pyramids were built by professionals not slaves is one that is taking hold and one I personally think is true. The PBS special provided some interesting facts to back up this hypothesis. The lesson Methos gives on brewing beer is also taken from this special.

2. Laodicea was a center of banking and exchange at this time. It was located on the common road from Rome to its southern provinces. It was known around the world for its eye salve and had a prestigious medical center. On the hills around the city, black sheep grazed and their black wool was much sought after.

3. Metopholus was a name listed in the Watcher CD that Methos had used as an alias.

4. Apollonius was named the head librarian of the Museion in George's book.

5. The characters of Nebamun, Labrienus, Martius, and Arqamani are all my invention, although the names themselves were taken from George's book.

6. Manetho was a historian commissioned by the first Ptolemy to write a history of Egypt and compile a list of all the pharaohs. I invented the dissertation on the beginning of time.

7. Julia Harami and Amy Zoll are listed in the CD as presenting the lecture "The Four Horsemen in Myth and Legend" at an Applied Research conference for Watchers in January, 1997, in Albertville France. Dr. Harami is the head researcher for and on the Middle East.