My name is Methos, for those of you who follow the exploits of one Duncan MacLeod, the mere mention of my name tells you my story. For those of you who don't, a quick recap may be in order. Methos is from the Greek literally meaning myth. I've gone from myth to legend; living on this earth over 5000 years. I am immortal; I can be killed only when my head is separated from my body by a swift sword. There are others like me, but I'm the oldest. Not the wisest, I have thousands of regrets, done things in my life that I am not proud of. What's the expression, been there, done that? Well, I've done plenty…good and bad. This is one of my better moments. It comes after a dark period in my life and started me on a path I'm still traveling.
* * * * * * *
Christmas 2003. Midnight mass is just starting as I slip into a pew at the rear of Saint Joseph's chapel. Now I'm not a religious man by any stretch of the imagination. Oh, I believe in a higher power, but I also believe that man creates his own destiny. Why would that higher power endow us with free will if he (or she) didn't expect us to use it? If I didn't believe that, I would have been dead centuries ago.
But I digress, I settle into the pew for the service. This is Darius' old chapel, like MacLeod, I would visit Darius for a game of chess and a philosophy session. This was his favorite time of year. I miss him terribly, even after all this time. The pews are packed, the familiar pageantry of the Mass swirls around me, along with the heavy smell of incense and pine. The priest reads the Gospel according to Luke. The incense and the music transport my mind to a simpler time.
* * * * * * *
I was running from my past. Sometime during the Bronze Age, I traveled with three other immortals, Silas, Kaspian and Kronos. The four of us rode together, creating chaos wherever we went. Kronos possessed an insatiable lust for power, he set fire to villages just to watch them burn. We invented terrorism, pillaging tribal settlements, abusing their inhabitants, toying with innocent lives until we grew tired and slaughtered them all. As the only one with a shred of decency, I tried to intervene, but Kronos ignored me, the others followed his lead. We were so notorious; the Bible makes special mention of us. Pestilence, Famine, War and Death; the mere mention of us striking fear everywhere we roamed. The Horsemen of the Apocalypse were real, I should know, I was one of them. I was Death.
We parted ways soon after Kronos burned yet another village to the ground. I killed a woman named Cassandra, bestowing the gift of immortality to her. When she revived, I took her as my prize. I treated her as kindly as I could, protecting her from the others. She became more than a slave, we became lovers. Kronos took her from me in a jealous rage and abused her until she could take no more rape and death. She stabbed him as she seduced him, escaping into the dessert with only the clothes on her back. I stopped Kronos from following her, offering myself to whatever torture would appease him. I nearly went mad until Kronos and the others tired of torturing and killing me; they abandoned me in the dessert. Why Kronos didn't take my head at that moment, I don't know.
For years I wandered, reinventing myself. I was a man of all trades and master of none. I was a lowly slave; I was an aide to kings. I began to find my calling when an Egyptian priest taught me healing ways, turning a slave into a fine physician. But Fate can be cruel. More often than not, I lived hand to mouth. Living life looking over your shoulder is no way to live. Kronos and I crossed paths, but I always managed to stay one step ahead. On the other hand, you can't escape yourself. My dreams were inevitably nightmares, the innocent faces of those I killed haunting me. To this day, I don't get much sleep.
* * * * * * *
I wander into Judea, near Bethlehem, with Shepards watching over flocks of sheep. They can always use an extra pair of eyes, so they gladly allow me to stay with them. I watch over the sheep and the men, treating illnesses of both man and beast with medicinal herbs and plants I keep in a pouch. I also have a short sword at my side, as much for my own protection as any of theirs. I use the name Benjamin as my real name would only bring trouble. I like these men and boys who welcomed me into their simple lives; even so, I keep my own counsel.
As usual, I take the night watch along with Malachi and Ephraim. Malachi reminds me of Silas, a gentle giant whose immense care for all creatures brings a smile to my face. He is Ephraim's son; a man more proud of his child I've never seen, before or since. The flock is small; we are within shouting distance of each other.
The night sky is bright, lit by a star in the east, shining brighter than usual. I can hear the others wondering if it's a sign. I have to admit it bothers me, since I've never before seen a star that bright. Then I feel it, that prickling sensation at the base of my neck, the buzz of another immortal nearby. Drawing my sword, I scan the flock, looking for the intruder who is, no doubt, looking for me. It feels as though I'm surrounded, the night sky lightens further. Ephraim and Malachi are on their knees, trembling in fear. I stay on my feet, following their gaze.
A voice, neither male nor female, fills the night sky.
'Fear not, I bring you tidings of great joy that are for all people. Today, in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.'
The buzz intensifies, filling my skull, forcing me to my knees. There are immortals everywhere, this buzz is different somehow, I fear for my life. Suddenly the sweetest music fills the air.
'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will.'
The sky darkens again until only the light of the star remains. By this time, Malachi, Ephraim, and the others are rounding up the flock to go to Bethlehem and see the newborn. Unable to hide my skepticism, I have no choice but to gather up my belongings and go with them.
Following the star, we come to a stable. It is a humble place for the Messiah to be born. Others have gathered to see the baby. Wealthy traders wearing rich clothes, their camels tethered outside. They bear gifts for the family, gold, frankincense and myrrh. We are allowed inside. A tall man with dark, sad eyes smiles down on his beloved wife and child. They are radiant in their joy. Malachi, a lamb in his arms, kneels next to the manger, Ephraim standing proudly behind him, his hand on the boy's shoulder. One by one, the other Shepards gaze upon the babe.
A familiar feeling overwhelms me, the buzz from another immortal alerting me to danger. Not here, not now, not in front of witnesses….I search for the source of the buzz, but it's elusive, difficult to pin down. Panicking, I whirl around, my hand instinctively reaching for my ever present dagger. As I turn, the buzz intensifies, my blade is halfway out of its sheath when it dawns on me. The newborn child is the source of the buzz, the strongest buzz I've ever encountered, before or since. Once again it swamps me, bringing me to my knees. The child is awake, gazing at me so intently it unnerves me. Then he smiles and a feeling of peace washes over me, a pure peace that I know I don't deserve. The boy's father motions me closer.
I hang back, a feeling deep in my heart that I'm unworthy. The deeds of my past flood my mind. An unbearable sorrow drives me away from the stable and into the inn. I spend a few coins on a skin of wine, hoping to banish the ghosts of my past. I return to the flock, the wine already leaving me light headed. I drift drunkenly into sleep.
Another immortal invades my dream. It speaks with the same androgynous voice I heard earlier. It is warning the baby's father. Word has already reached Herod of the child's birth. Fearing the loss of his kingdom, Herod orders that all male children under the age of two be found and put to death. The immortal warns the father the boy is in great danger and to take the child into Egypt to save his life.
I wake stone cold sober. Running to the stable, I find the new family gathering their meager belongings together. Taking the father aside, I tell him of my dream. He already knows, he tells me of a similar dream. I stay to help them pack up. I tie my pouch of medicines to the young mother's belongings on the back of donkey she rides, and then cover the beast with my ram's fleece to give her a more comfortable ride. She smiles, suddenly handing the baby to me while she settles herself on the donkey. The baby is awake, smiling, reaching for my nose. Another smile, I smile back and gingerly hand the child up to his mother. I feel content, somehow at peace. I lead them out of Bethlehem while Ephraim, Malachi and the others head for home in Nazareth. Once the family is safely on the road to Egypt, I quietly return to Nazareth to collect my pay and move on.
* * * * * * *
The gospel ends, a long winded sermon follows. I duck out somewhere in the middle and walk back to the barge MacLeod so generously gave me. It's a cold night, new fallen snow crunching under my feet, my breath steaming. Once inside the barge, I heat some wine, and toast the child I met that long ago night in Bethlehem. On this one night, I feel free of my past and the innocents that haunt my dreams. I pull the down comforter over my shoulders, burrowing deep. I always sleep well on Christmas.