Disclaimer: Highlander does not belong to me. Buffy the Vampire Slayer does not belong to me. I gain no profit from the creation of this story beyond personal writing experience.

A/N: Again, everything presented here is equal parts research, conjecture, and creative license.


Carthage: Byrsa


Tyre, 814 B.C.
--

The Apocalypse loomed dark in the future of the Phoenician Empire.

Elishet stood in the Temple of Melqart, staring out across the city toward the palace she shared with her husband. Her vision was blurred by burning tears that hadn't fallen in a century or more. Behind her lay the corpse of her husband, his blood spread in a thin film across the granite floor. Her white silk dress was stained red where she had cradled Sychaeus's cold body against her breast.

Murdered.

Someone must pay for this travesty.

She knew in the back of her mind that she wasn't being rational. She was sinking into a feral fog, and she couldn't bring herself to care. The Primeval force that she had so long housed in her body stirred with excitement. For the first time since Sineya died, it had an opportunity for free reign – and it knew what they wanted.

Pygmalion's head on a platter. The city of Tyre on its knees for daring to choose that tyrant over Elishet. And, while they were at it, they might as well take on the entire Empire. Elishet would bathe in blood tonight.

A startled cry caught her attention, and she turned to glare at the intruder with eyes that seemed to glow with rage.

"Lord Sychaeus! Oh, Majesty, what has happened?"

Elishet recognized the chief of the Temple servants and her initial impulse was to slaughter him like someone had slaughtered Sychaeus. But she could smell his shock, dismay, and his real sorrow – this man had nothing to do with the death of her husband.

"My husband is dead," she said, voice hollow. "Baalhanno, I need you to send word to my household – quietly – and warn them to be on their guard."

"Your Majesty…"

"Do it. It is not safe for me here, nor is it safe for anyone who loved Lord Sychaeus. I do not want my brother knowing I was here. Do you understand, Baalhanno?"

"My Queen, I do. And… And My Lord's body?" he queried, voice wavering.

"Leave him," she commanded, turning back to stare blindly across the city. "I wish to stay with him for a time."

There was a soft rustling of cloth, which Elishet presumed was the temple servant bowing, and then the door opened and shut softly. Alone once more, she walked slowly back to Sychaeus's body. She knelt beside him, ignoring the blood soaking into her white skirts. The dress was already ruined, and blood was nothing new to her.

Sychaeus was not the first loved one that she had lost to violence, nor would he be the last. Thousands of her sisters had been brutally murdered during her long memory – but never had she lost a human lover to human greed. This was a new kind of pain, and it was pain that Elishet had no experience dealing with.

"One year," she murmured, reaching to brush the hair out of his sightless eyes. "We have been married for only one year – barely a heartbeat in my life. But know that I will always remember you, and I will always love you."

Elishet leaned over and kissed his cold lips. She closed his eyes with gentle fingers, pressing a soft kiss on each eyelid as she did so. It was macabre, but it filled her with a sense of peace. This was goodbye.

Sychaeus's calm serenity settled over her shoulders like a blanket, cooling her raging blood. The Primeval in her wished to slaughter the man she was sure was responsible for Sychaeus's murder, but she knew the time was not right. If there was anything she had learned during her many lifetimes, it was that she could outlast any enemy.

Right now, Pygmalion's guards would be quadrupled. She had no doubt that her movements would be very closely watched, and that she would be unable to get anywhere near her co-ruler without him knowing her every breath.

For now, it would be impractical to kill him. But in a year, ten years… she would remember this moment. She would remember sitting here, cradling the corpse of the man that she had loved so much she had offered to give him a child. She would remember, and when Pygmalion let down his guard, she would be there to run him through with her beautiful jeweled sword.

This was a grudge she would carry with her forever.

--

The waves crashed into the jagged rocks, soaking her skirts with salty water. She looked upwards over the sea, eyes searching the stars for an answer to her desperate questions. Why Sychaeus? Why now? But all the astrological skill in the world couldn't answer her questions. So she looked beyond them into the velvet blackness of the night sky.

"Spirit, if you hear me, answer!"

Her anguished cry was quickly lost to the roar of the ocean, but she held her breath in hope. Always, always the Spirit came when she called. For as long as she could remember, from the dawn of human history, the Spirit had been her Guide and her friend. She had come to love him deeply, and it hurt her that he didn't come to her now, when she needed his friendship the most.

"Please," she whispered in her native tongue, a language long forgotten by mortal man. "I need you."

"Eshe, my darling."

She whirled, staring at the apparition. She felt her heart would burst, because there he stood, vibrant and familiar and alive. She didn't ask how he knew her True Name or how he spoke the language of her childhood. That was irrelevant. All that mattered was that someone had answered her call.

With a soft cry, she threw herself into her husband's arms. He stroked her hair, whispering soothingly as she shivered against him.

They stood there together for a time before she stepped back with a sigh. She kept her arms around his waist, and his thumb stroked her cheek gently as they held each other.

"I love you, Sychaeus," she told him, because there was nothing else to say.

"I have always loved you, my dear, in this lifetime and others."

"My Lord?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

It was not often that she was confused – though considering the fact that she was standing on the inaccessible rocks at the bottom of the cliffs below her palace, talking to her dead husband, she really shouldn't be surprised.

He smiled mysteriously and shook his head. She let it go as unimportant. The important thing was that she stood in her husband's arms again.

"Time is short, my dear. There is nothing left for you in Tyre except pain and loss. Take a ship and sail west, past Egypt. Bring your household and as many able-bodied men and women as you can. I have treasure enough hidden away – I want you to be happy, Queen of my heart. Go to the garden, to our tree where I asked you to marry me, and hidden beneath the roots there are two keys. The silver key opens the door in the basement that is always locked. The gold key opens a door in the Temple. Baalhanno will know which one – you can trust him. Everything in these rooms is for you, Eshe."

She nodded, not questioning the instructions. She wouldn't miss Tyre. Sychaeus was right – with the death of the man she had taken as her father and now the death of her husband, Tyre meant nothing to her. It would be no real hardship to pack up and move again.

"I will never join you in the After Life," she said suddenly. Her heart twisted painfully at this confession. It hurt so much to know that there was something that came after death, but that it was a place she could never go, a gift she could never receive. When – if – she ever died, she would simply cease to exist.

When her loved ones died, they were lost to her forever – and that was heart sickness.

Sychaeus's face was suffused with sorrow as he held her to his chest. She felt him press a kiss on the top of her head, and she closed her eyes to savor the sensation.

"Perhaps not," he murmured into her hair. "But I will hold you in my heart, and I promise that we will meet again."

"I love you, Sychaeus."

"I love you, Queen Elishet of Tyre."

--

"Pygmalion."

Elishet didn't bother to give the slave time to announce her presence. She simply strolled into her brother's rooms with a calculated familiarity. This was a choreographed encounter, whether Pygmalion knew it or not. Everything from her entrance to her appearance was carefully selected to give the boy a message that even he could subconsciously understand.

She had instructed her slaves to leave her hair down today, and it curled around her waist in a golden waterfall. The studied casualness of the style was offset by her elaborate headdress and jewelry, and the layers of royal purple silk that encased her body. She wore more wealth about her person this morning than was contained in the most expensive of Pygmalion's court costumes.

"Elishet. What are you doing here?" Pygmalion reclined on a couch in his private chambers, two slaves massaging his feet and a third carefully tending his nails.

Elishet was displeased but unsurprised. Her little brother was as lazy as he was greedy – which only made it more galling that the people of their city chose to look to him for leadership. She quelled the urge to rip out his heart and stuff it up his ass. Patience, she reminded herself. He would get what was coming to him soon enough.

"I wish to travel. With the death of my husband, this city holds nothing but pain for me." And danger, in the form of the recumbent teenager.

Pygmalion's interest was piqued. He sat up, waving the slaves away with a careless gesture. "Where would you go?"

"Sidon," she shrugged. "North by sea. Perhaps further. I do not wish to return here until this sorrow weighs less heavily on my heart."

"When do you wish to leave?" The dog sounded almost eager to be rid of her. She barely held in her sneer. In his place, she would do everything possible to keep her enemies under personal supervision.

"Immediately. As soon as a ship can be found for my household and our supplies."

The calculating look on Pygmalion's face let her know exactly what he was thinking. With the absence of both Elishet and her household, there would be no one to stand in the way of his own agents tearing Sychaeus's palace apart for his treasure. She found it difficult to maintain the calm façade of mourning when her stomach was clenched with rage.

"My dearest sister, you shall have the three best ships of our fleet!" She wondered if he had intended the 'our' to reflect the joint nature of their rule or to act as the royal 'we'. Had he gotten clever enough to use double meanings?

"How kind," she demurred. "I would never have presumed to ask."

"It is my pleasure, Elishet," he beamed at her. He looked entirely too pleased with himself as he lay back into his pillows, motioning the three slaves to resume their attentions.

She gave him a cool smile that showed nothing of what she was thinking, then turned and left his presence.

--

"Dump them," Elishet commanded. The palace servants stared at her in horror, and she inwardly sneered at their discomfort. Not that she could really blame them. After all, when they returned to her brother with this news it was unlikely that any of them would survive the encounter.

"My Lady," one murmured, shifting uncomfortably. "Is that…proper?"

Elishet's expression darkened at the double insult. Not only had this servant demoted her from Queen to mere lady, he had dared to question whether her actions were proper. If he had meant to earn leniency for himself and his crewmates, he had gone about it in entirely the wrong way.

"It is the only proper course," she said severely. "We must make a sacrifice in honor of my husband before we can leave on such a journey – what better sacrifice than his wealth? It will ease his passage greatly, and what need have I for his gold? My brother has blessed this voyage, and I have gold enough of my own – as Queen. It is only right and proper that Sychaeus's wealth follows him into the afterlife. So throw it overboard."

Her own household was already hard at work throwing the heavy bags over the side of the ship she had chosen as her flagship. Three priests from the Temple of Melqart stood in the bow, chanting prayers to accompany the sacrifice. These three were Sychaeus's closest friends, and had elected to join Elishet in her journey. They were intelligent enough to know that whoever became High Priest now would walk a dangerous path, and a known connection to the dead would be inviting trouble.

Slowly, obviously cowed by her words and the eerie chanting of the priests, the palace servants got to work. Many were still dragging their feet, but some looked resolved. She inwardly smiled. She had already determined that any of Pygmalion's servants who asked to join her voyage would be made welcome.

The man who had dared speak up continued to look nervous and rebellious, but under the watchful eyes of Baalhanno, he was unable to do anything but through the bags into the deep water.

The oldest of the priests, a foreigner who had joined the Temple of Melqart in Sidon, joined her where she stood leaning against the railing at the back of the ship.

"Aren't you supposed to be chanting, Emrys?" she inquired drolly, eyes still focused on the city across the water.

"Two priests should be quite sufficient to bless a tribute of sand," he returned dryly, folding his arms against the wooden rails to her left.

Elishet grinned, turning her head to meet his eyes. "I should have expected you – the three of you – to figure it all out. Or did Baalhanno tell you?"

"Baalhanno," he admitted. "Though even if I hadn't known beforehand, the evidence of my eyes would have been sufficient. I know what a bag of gold looks like. You're just lucky that no one else appears to know the difference between bags of gold and sand."

"Luck has little to do with it," she said. "My household knows the truth, and those who could not be trusted were sold before Sychaeus's body was cold in his tomb. As for Pygmalion's servants…Well, the less said about my brother's choices, the better."

Emrys grinned at her, and Elishet smiled back. She didn't know the priest well, but she had dined with him and his two companions several times over the past year. She knew that they had loved Sychaeus, and that he had regarded them as trustworthy and intelligent men. It would lighten her heart significantly to have them along, especially since Emrys at least appeared to have a sense of humor.

"Queen Elishet - I beg your pardon Lord Emrys – My Queen, the tribute is complete."

"Thank you, Baalhanno. If you will excuse me, Lord Emrys, I must see to the start of our journey."

"By all means," Emrys gestured with an open hand, bowing his head graciously. She returned the gesture of respect, then swept down to Baalhanno's side.

It was time to begin again.

--

In the end, all but three of the palace servants had elected to join Elishet on the journey. Later, she heard that the three who returned to Pygmalion had been tortured to death for what her brother considered treason. It had not been a popular move, as the servants had made it known that Elishet, Queen Elishet, had ordered the sacrifice as a proper tribute to her deceased husband – as was only right and fitting, the people of Tyre murmured.

Elishet found it ironic that it was her departing gesture that endeared her to the hearts of her people. Had she stayed afterwards, or returned, she could probably seize complete power from her brother – especially after his foolish treatment of those who had remained faithful to him against the odds.

She had also earned a new name, and her people who journeyed with her had embraced it with gusto. She was rarely called Elishet anymore, even by those she had selected as personal companions and advisors.

Dido, she was called. The Wanderer. Already there were romantic retellings of her departure from Tyre, and the dramatic gesture that was both tribute to her husband and defiance against her brother. She was being upheld as a model of virtue for women, and Emrys had informed her – tongue in cheek – that there had been a sudden increase in the number of women becoming priestesses.

Upon landing at a Temple of Ishtar two months after their departure from Tyre, in fact, there had been such an overflow of priestesses that it had been an easy matter to convince twenty virgins to join the expedition as wives to some of her followers. This, of course, amused Elishet to no end – though she was glad for the female company.

They had now been at sea for five months. They had gone first to Sidon, as she had told her brother, though they stayed there only long enough to buy fresh food. After that, she had taken them west, as Sychaeus had told her in her dream.

She had felt his presence twice since then, though she hadn't had so clear a dream. Once had been while she slept, and she felt as though someone cradled her from behind. The second time had been a confusing sense that behind Sychaeus was Achert, and behind her first lover was someone else – but not behind. When she had woken from this dream, it had been with a fading sense of recognition that she couldn't understand.

As they sailed west, they heard many stories that cast fear into the hearts of many in the company. The Horsemen of the Apocalypse rode these lands, west of the Red Sea. They were the terror of the known world, some said, and they had decimated entire armies in only weeks. Worse, they had been riding for centuries now, and they could not be killed by any means known to mortal man.

Elishet did not fear them. She knew that they were Immortals, and had been warriors for many years – but she had been a warrior longer, and she had strength and speed they could not hope to match, even with all the experience in the world. If they attacked her people, she would risk exposure and fight.

What surprised her was that she was not the only one who seemed to know the truth about the Horsemen.

All three priests seemed comfortable with the idea of legendary warriors, and Emrys seemed to always know more than he was telling. While the other priests shrugged at the mention of the Horsemen, Emrys would give a cryptic smile. Baalhanno also seemed to know something of the truth, though he still seemed to fear them.

Elishet wondered if they knew that she knew, or if they simply dismissed her own lack of fear as an act of leadership. But no one would admit to their knowledge in order to ask, so it remained an unspoken secret between them all.

At least the calm serenity of the voyage's leaders helped ease the fear of their companions.

--

Sixth months out, they discovered a natural harbor carved into the northern shore of Africa. A large hill dominated the bay, and Elishet admired it for the possibilities it presented.

They were all weary of the constant journeying, even with frequent rests and short stops. Somewhere in the last two months, Elishet had come to the conclusion that they needed a permanent resting place. They now had everything they needed to establish a small city, and she had wealth enough to buy anything they still lacked. The idea of settling in Africa, her homeland, pleased her greatly.

The hill over the harbor was the ideal place to build a city. It was an easy landmark, easily defensible, and beautiful. The area was fertile enough to support local food, and the harbor was ideal for fostering the maritime trade to which the people from Tyre were accustomed.

Elishet turned to face her people gathered on the deck. She smiled at them, and lifted her arms in a welcoming gesture. The purple silk of her dress fluttered in the wind, and her golden hair shone brighter than a crown in the morning sun. Later, Emrys told her that she looked like a goddess standing there on the bow of their ship, a holy queen stepped down to bestow her blessing on the multitude. Even his eyes had reflected the awe and joy that she had seen in the faces of her followers.

"My friends, we have come Home!"

The cheer was deafening.

--

It took longer than Elishet had anticipated to make her promise a reality.

She knew that the area must be controlled by a local tribe, but she could find no sign of them. Several scouting groups were sent out, and she had even gone on one of them herself to make sure that they knew what to look for. It seemed imprudent to begin setting up even an impermanent settlement until she could negotiate with the tribe – after all, she knew even better than most what was likely to happen to anyone who dared intrude.

After three weeks anchored in the harbor, the company was getting restless. It took her, the priests, and Baalhanno together to keep everyone calm and rational in face of growing agitation. Luckily some people were keeping their heads, and Elishet made a point of personally thanking each of the twenty ex-priestesses who were doing their best to keep their husbands distracted.

Finally one of the scouting parties brought word of the tribe, and Elishet sighed with relief. It was a tribe she was familiar with, though she hadn't had dealings with them for ninety some years. No one would recognize her and she was fluent in the trade language of the network this tribe was part of.

As soon as the news reached the ship, Elishet began preparing for the upcoming meeting. She sent a messenger to the tribe after spending several hours coaching him in the pronunciation and flow of the trade language. He was a bright child, the youngest of their company at 12, and had a talent for language that Emrys had been fostering during the journey. Although he couldn't understand all that she told him to say, she trusted his ability to repeat it inflection for inflection, and to take back to her exactly what was said by the chief of the tribe.

The boy returned just after nightfall. He returned her greeting of respect, thanks for the gift she had sent, and an invitation to meet the chief at dawn.

Elishet woke an hour before dawn to wash and dress. Two women – freed slaves – had long since taken up the role as her personal attendants. After so long in harbor, it was no great difficulty for them to make her presentable.

She was bathed using her ever-dwindling supply of scented oils. Her hair was combed and bound up in an elaborate headdress that emphasized her golden curls – exotic in this area, and likely to impress the locals. She dressed in bright white silks that dazzled the eyes in the sun, with a purple sash and an ornate gold belt. She went barefoot, enjoying the feeling of the ground beneath her toes. Elishet was tall for a woman, though still shorter than most men. Still, anything helped.

Accompanied by Emrys and Baalhanno, she followed the boy back to the tribe's encampment.

The chief was a small man with dark skin and strong shoulders. He brought back memories of her life before her first death, of the chief of her own tribe that she could only vaguely remember. Despite being shorter than Elishet, the chief commanded respect.

"Greetings Father-of-the-Tribe," Elishet said in the trade tongue. "I am Wanderer, Dido in the language of my people. I am Tribe Mother."

It was unusual for the leader of a tribe to be female, but not unheard of. The chief looked only slightly skeptical, and was regarding the two men flanking her with some curiosity. He accepted her claim, however, and did not question her.

"Greetings Mother Wanderer. I am Kiyet. You are welcome here with your tribe."

Elishet knew that the welcome was not an invitation to settle, or even to stay for a short time. It was a standard offer of hospitality that would last only as long as Kiyet wished it to last.

"Thank you for your gift of hospitality. As guest gift, I have brought to you the bracelet that graced the wrist of Ienia, She-who-battled-on-the-great-cliffs. This is but a token of my regard for you and for your people."

Ienia had been the reason for her involvement in the area ninety years ago. The 16 year old had been called late in life as Slayer, after already bearing three children to the chief. From the lighter color of his eyes and the bright smile, Elishet was almost positive that Chief Kiyet was the son of the son of Ienia and had heard stories of his grandmother. The bracelet had been a gift from Ienia's husband on the birth of their son. When Ienia fell in battle, Elishet had taken it as a way of remembering the Slayer. She had always intended to return it to the family, but she had been forced to leave before she could. It gave her great pleasure to gift it to Ienia's grandson now, and it gave her even more pleasure to see what had become of Ienia's descendents.

The expression on Kiyet's face was almost comical in its awe and delight. He appeared to hold his breath as Elishet removed the beaten copper and gold circle from her own wrist and offered it to Kiyet on her open palm. He picked it up carefully, almost reverently, grinning widely in delight.

"This is indeed an honorable gift. Come. Tell me what you desire, Wanderer, for you are indeed a true friend of this tribe."

Elishet grinned inwardly. She had expected Kiyet to know the gift for what it was, but she hadn't dared hope for such an excellent response.

"My people and I are weary, Kiyet. We have journey for many long months, fleeing from a terrible man in the east, a man who murdered my husband and stole the throne that was mine by right. All we ask is for a place to rest our heads. A place to call home. In exchange, we will pay you a tribute for the land on which we build our city. What say you?"

"I say 'my people have lived on this land for many generations.' I say 'how can I give to your people that which gives mine their life.'"

Elishet remained silent, knowing that the chief was not yet finished speaking. He would likely wax eloquent about the value and necessity of all the land in his territory – but she knew by the sparkle in his eyes and the little smile on his lips and the way he held on tightly to Ienia's bracelet that he would give the land to her without second thought.

He continued in the expected vein for nearly five minutes, and Elishet spared a glance toward her companions. They all looked serene and hopeful, and she knew that it was at least in small part because they could not understand the exchange of words that was taking place. Finally Kiyet wound down.

"For a fist of gold every harvest, I will give you the land marked out by a single ox hide. This is my offer."

Kiyet looked at her expectantly, and she knew that he expected her to try and bargain him down. One fistful of gold for a single ox hide of land was ridiculous, especially for someone named a friend of the tribe. But Elishet had received training of a sort unfamiliar to Kiyet. She had learned politics and mathematics during her stay in Tyre, and Kiyet had used an interesting choice of words.

He had said marked out by an ox hide. Not cover, not lay over. Marked out. If she cut it into thin strips, an ox hide could really hold quite a lot of land. In fact, she mentally did the calculations, if the hide were on the large side and she used the water as a boundary, she could probably fit the entire hill by the harbor inside.

Elishet smiled. In that case, she would be getting by far the better end of the deal. She could afford to let Kiyet think her something of a fool while she and Emrys and Baalhanno circled the hill. Afterwards he would respect her quite a lot, and she would give him two fistfuls of gold as a gesture of good faith. It would show her to be both clever and honorable, and put her in excellent standing among the local tribes.

"You are most generous, Kiyet, and for my people I thank you. We are grateful for your offer and we accept your terms on the condition that we have tomorrow to prepare."

Kiyet looked scandalized, and Elishet felt a little bad about depriving the man of a spirited bartering session. But oh well. She would make up for it later, when their city was established and she had goods to trade. For now, she had a city to stake.

--

"You are a worthy ally, Wanderer," was all Kiyet said when he saw what she had done with the ox hide.

Cut into slender strips and carefully fastened together, the hide more than encircled the hill and the beach, leaving the now-settlers with room to grow. Kiyet clasped her hand, accepted the fistful of gold, and returned again the next day to watch them begin the building process.

And thus was born the city of Carthage.

--

A/N: Emrys is the Immortal who gave Darius his "Light Quickening" during the second century A.D., if you were wondering.