Interlude Two

Niebos, December 2010:

Silence filled the dusky, dark library. Almost as if he hated to disturb the silent and thoughtful immortal, the old Watcher leaned forward and clicked off the recorder, removing the disk as he'd done so earlier, and labeling it with a massive 2 written in his neat and precise scholar's penmanship. Resolutely he inserted the next disk and leaned back in his chair.

"Are you thirsty?" Phillip asked him suddenly.

"I'm fine," Portocullis replied and cleared his throat. He could see that the swordmaster's eyes were red-rimmed as though he was fighting back tears. "You needn't be concerned about me."

Phillip gave him a thin smile… yet there was no warmth in it… only weariness.

"Perhaps we can finish another time," the old gentleman offered diffidently. "We can finish tomorrow… or the next day."

Phillip sighed deeply. He stared at the gathering darkness of the night thoughtfully and then shook his head. "No… I don't want to leave it there. If I do… my demons will haunt me all night." Rising, he poured a clear, golden wine from a decanter into a wineglass and downed it quickly before pouring a second. He looked at the old Watcher and gestured with the decanter. "You're certain?" he asked.

Portocullis gestured no.

Phillip returned to his seat and crossed his legs in a posture that seemed to suggest an ease that he no longer felt. "So what do you want to know now?"

"Something we Watchers have long wanted to know. Something that must be near and dear to your heart."

Phillip chuckled. "What would that be? My enthusiasm for wine? My first glimpse of Eleanor? My first meeting with Methos?"

Portocullis shook his head. His lips turned up in a secretive smile; his dark eyes glittered merrily. "No… none of those."

Phillip arched an eyebrow but waited silently.

"You always identify yourself as the swordmaster of Alexander the Great."

Phillip nodded.

"Obviously," the old man continued gesturing slightly toward the recorder, "we would like to know about that period of your life."

Phillip threw back his head and laughed, dispelling his dark mood of the past hour. "You want to know about that boy-king. You want to know what part I had in his training? His rise to power? His conquests? His death?"

"Yes," Portocullis breathed eagerly, unable to disguise behind the facade of dispassionate historian, his desire for this.

Phillip sipped the wine again, then set it on the table. The room was nearly dark now. He reached over and turned on a dim lamp to dispel the darkness, and then sat back comfortably. "Ah… Alexander," he said with a warm smile laden with memory. "My finest hour..."

Portocullis began to record once more.