See chapter 1 for author's notes and disclaimers.
Night had fallen in Olympia and that was when the religious rites of the games took place. The streets around the stadium were filled with revelers who had come to feast and pay homage to the god Zeus. Inside the stadium, the day's seven champions stood around a large fire preparing for one of the most sacred rituals. Behind them many of the games' former champions formed a boundary circle.
Methos and the six other men were all dressed in white, but the light of the flames made their togas glow orange like the setting sun. It wasn't long before the moment they had all been waiting for arrived. A pair of drummers began pounding out a slow, steady rhythm. From one end of the stadium seven shadows seemed to emerge, but as they grew nearer, they could be identified as young women.
They were dressed in gowns of a translucent green fabric that showed the entranced men every line and curve on their young, nubile bodies. As they stared, transfixed, the women entered the ring and began the Dance of Eros. The drum beat gained speed and the dancers followed suit, circling the fire and weaving in and out of the men around it. This was one of the bonuses of being a champion; when the dance finished, before each man would stand the virgin selected for him as reward for his superior skill.
The drums continued their gradual increase in speed as the women, dresses flying, undulated their bodies around the enthralled males. It was then that Methos saw her: the girl from the stands. She was one of the dancers! He prayed to every god and goddess whose name he could remember that she had been selected for him.
The rhythm continued to increase until it reached a fever pitch, the girls gyrating wildly to its pulsing beat. When it seemed as though none present could take the tension anymore, the sound abruptly stopped, and so did the women. Methos realized for the first time that his eyes were closed, and as he opened them, he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His stomach dropped when he surveyed the scene; she was standing in front of the man next to him.
He looked into the hopeful eyes of the blonde standing before him and his mouth went dry. He saw her smile falter for a moment to be immediately replaced with a false cheer. He wanted to apologize, but his mind would not work to form the words. All he could think about were the hungry eyes of the ox beside him ogling the girl with the fiery red curls.
The females began to file out of the stadium in a line. They would go to the sacred baths to be cleansed by the priestesses of Hera before making their ways to their champions' beds. Methos finally snapped out of his stunned state and decided to take action.
While the other men stood around discussing their impending conquests, the immortal made his way to the stable. He mounted his horse and galloped up to the group of women as they drew near the baths. All scattered at his approach, save the redhead, who looked upon him with recognition.
Reaching down his hand to her, he spoke, "Come with me." She looked at him doubtfully. "You can stay and be given to him as an object, or you can make a choice and come with me." He pleaded to her with his eyes. It was about this time that the other men noticed what was going on.
Glancing behind her as she heard her intended shouting in fury at the man on the horse reaching out to his prize, she knew what she had to do. She slipped her delicate hand into Methos' calloused one, and he pulled her astride the horse in front of him. They rode away from the stadium and the shouts of the enraged men.
They didn't stop riding until they reached the sacred olive grove far outside the walls of the city. There they dismounted and made love among the trees until dawn broke...