Steel

Cassandra and Ramirez

Venice, the Italian Peninsula
Carnevale, 1501

Tak-Ne dodged his way through the costumed throngs in the streets and bridges of Venice, as the people danced and fornicated their way through this last night of festival before the solemnity of Lent began. In Roman times, the festival at this time of year had been called Lupercalia, and priests of the god Pan had run through the streets, striking half-naked women with goatskin thongs to help make them fertile. The Catholic Church had changed the name and some of the customs, but the Christians still knew how to celebrate it.

A plump woodland nymph gave him an eager kiss that tasted of wine, but he pulled away from the wench as the sense of another Immortal roiled in his stomach. He moved cautiously to a narrow dark street, then turned toward a flutter of cloth. "Stand forth!" he demanded.

The Immortal stepped from the shadows of a doorway with sword in hand, but the blade was merely held at the ready, not raised to attack.

"Cassia?" he asked in delighted surprise, taking a step back, lowering his own sword. He had missed the rendezvous with her in Britain, a small matter of a rebellion. He had gone anyway, five years later, but she had not waited for him.

"Xanthos," she replied, smiling a little. "Or should I say, Lucius?"

He swept off his hat and bowed, being careful not to take his eyes from her. He didn't think she would attack him, but they had not seen each other for over a thousand years. Best to be careful. "Actually, of late I have been known as Luciano Antonio Calaveri." He clapped his hat back on his head. "However, that name no longer appeals to me, and I am thinking of choosing another. And you are called...?"

"Isadora Caboto," she answered, smiling more now. Her cloak hung open, and her long Grecian-style gown revealed the curve of her thighs as she took a step closer to him.

"The name suits you," he said, then looked about him at the filthy alley. "Shall we find a more congenial spot to talk?"

"Yes, I think we should," Cassandra replied.

They both sheathed their swords, then he bowed again and offered her his arm. They made their way through the crowds and finally arrived at a small tavern, marked by a sign of a howling wolf over the door.

They chatted of the festival, of the fashions of the time. He was in modern dress - knee-high boots; woolen hose and puffed out breeches; a red velvet doublet slashed through with cream silk. She had been to a costume ball and wore the ancient Greek chiton. It looked as good on her now as it had two thousand years ago. Better.

He poured her a glass of wine and cut her a slice of bread, then leaned back in his chair and simply enjoyed looking at her. But he was also watching - wondering what had changed, wondering if there could still be trust between them. And maybe something more.

They talked of countries, of places to go, and he chose the new name Juan Sanchez Ramirez. Cassandra suggested he add Villa-Lobos to it, in honor of the sign of the wolf over the door. Some more conversation, a bit of flirtation, and soon they agreed to travel together to Spain and live there as husband and wife, in deference to the local laws about cohabitation. It was good to know the trust - and more - was still between them.

But upstairs, in the private room he had rented for the night, he soon realized otherwise. She smiled at him and came into his arms eagerly enough, but her kisses lacked the depth of passion he knew her capable of. When he stood behind her and lifted the silken strands of her hair from her neck, she froze. Only for an instant, but he knew what he had seen. Another man would not have noticed, but he had lived with this woman for nearly a century, and he knew her.

He removed his hands from her and sat down on the edge of the canopied bed. "Have you forgotten, Cassandra?" he asked gently. "I am a man who prefers willing and enthusiastic bedpartners."

"I am willing, Tak-Ne," she said, coming to stand before him, but her smile was forced.

"But you are not enthusiastic." Something flickered in her eyes, but in the light of the single candle from the sconce on the wall, he could not tell what it was. Fear? Despair? Hope? "Cassandra," he said softly, "you don't have to pretend with me."

She looked away at that, then whispered, "I'm sorry. I just need ... a little time."

"We're Immortal," he said. "We have time."

"I didn't mean to mislead you, Tak-Ne," she said, sitting beside him, but not touching him. Her hands lay loosely clasped in her lap, not moving at all. "I truly did not think it would be this difficult."

"A thousand years is a long time to be apart."

She stared at the pleats in her gown. "I can still ... do things for you, give you-"

"Cassandra," he broke in, "stop. You don't owe me anything."

"You've fed me and given me a place to sleep, and I don't owe you?" Her eyes were dark and knowing, cynical. Bitter.

"No," he said, disturbed that she would continue to offer herself to him this way, wondering how many times over the last three thousand years she had sold her body for food and protection. "Not that."

The bitterness in her eyes wavered and cracked, revealing the vulnerability and loneliness he remembered. "You are a good man," she said, with a wisp of a smile. "I've forgotten what that's like."

A very long thousand years. He offered her his hand palm up, and waited until she had laid her hand within his. "We have time," he said again, then coaxed a smile from her as he added, "and I know you're worth the wait."

They left Venice the next morning and went to Genoa, then four weeks later they sailed to Barcelona on the ship Persephone. The ship's master married them two days into the voyage, and Cassandra came to him then. It was a wedding night worth waiting for.

Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez and his young wife, the Senora Maria Caterina Rohas y Ramirez, settled on an estate near the small seaside town of Mataro. He kept busy with the farm and his business ventures in textiles, while Cassandra taught music and healing to the sisters at the convent, and started a hospice in town for the poor. But after sixteen years, it was time to move on, as Immortals always moved on.

They traveled north to Ireland and spent a year there, then sailed for the west coast of Scotland, to the Highlands, at Cassandra's suggestion. She befriended a local healer near the shores of Loch Shiel, and when the old woman died that summer, Cassandra and Tak-Ne moved into her small cottage near an ancient hot spring, sacred to the spirits of the forest, holy ground. The cottage was small and lacked windows and a fireplace, so they hauled rocks from the nearby river and rebuilt it into a more comfortable home.

Cassandra seemed content to stay in the forest, handing out healing remedies to the clansfolk, but within a year the restlessness came on him again.

"You should go," she said, kneeling back on her heels in the garden, her hands stained green with plant juice and brown with dirt. "You don't belong here."

He leaned on his shovel, taking a well-earned rest from digging. "And you do?"

She looked about her at the stone cottage, the small shed they had built for the sheep and the chickens, the garden. Then she stared upward into the canopy of green leaves from the ancient oaks and beeches, and the bright blue of the sky beyond. "Yes," she said. "I do." She rose smoothly to her feet and wiped her hands off on her apron as she came to him. "I need a time of peace, I think. Of quietness."

He nodded, for he had seen the change in her since they had come to the forest, the contentment, as though she had finally found something she had sought long and far.

"Go," she said again, as they took each other's hands. "But come back to me."

"You'll be here?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "I'll be here in Donan Wood for quite some time."

"Then I'll know where to look for you," he said, and he kissed her lightly in farewell.

Cassandra set down the wool she had been carding and reached for her sword. An Immortal was approaching. She peered out the crack between the shutters on the window, then left her sword on the table and went running out the door.

"Tak-Ne!" she called, as he swung himself down from his horse.

He laughed and twirled her around in his arms, then slowed as they kissed. "This is certainly an enthusiastic greeting," he said, holding tight to her with one arm, while he settled his white-plumed hat more firmly on his head with the other hand.

"Enthusiastic - and willing," Cassandra agreed. He smelled of sweat and horse, and his green velvet doublet was covered with dust. He looked and felt and tasted wonderful, and her hands roved up and down his back as she relished the solid strength of him. "It's been fifteen years."

They kissed again, enthusiastically, until he finally pulled back and said, "I need at least to unsaddle my horse. It was a long ride."

"I hope that ride hasn't tired you out for another," she said, as she reluctantly let go of him.

He grinned at her as he took off the saddlebags. "Immortals don't stay saddlesore for long."

She grinned back. "No matter what kind of riding they're doing." He laughed at that, and she took his bags into the cottage while he unsaddled his horse. Cassandra undressed quickly, then donned sandals and the blue silk robe he had bought for her when they had lived in Spain. She left the garment unfastened, then went back outside, a cup of wine in her hand.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, then came to take the wine from her hand, the darks of his eyes very wide, very warm.

"Would you care to bathe?" she asked, and at his nod, she led him to the pool, down the short path between the pair of enormous oak trees, the guardians of the spring. She slipped out of her own gown first, then helped him to disrobe, and saw him seated comfortably on the rock under the surface of the water. She rinsed away the dust of his journey, the warm water pouring from her cupped hands, then she washed him, his skin smooth under her fingertips, under her lips and her tongue. He still tasted wonderful.

"I think you washed that part of me already," he said, half-floating in the water with his eyes closed.

"So I did," she agreed, pausing in her ministrations. "Should I stop?"

"No."

Over the evening meal of barley and chicken stew, he told her of his adventures. "I've been traveling with King Charles. He made me his Chief Metallurgist, advisor on weapons of war."

"That's wonderful," she congratulated him. "Is that Charles I of Spain, Ferdinand and Isabella's grandson?" she asked, knowing how quickly crowns could change, how easily countries could disappear.

"Yes, that's the one," he said, pouring them both more wine. "Though he's also held the title of Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire for nearly fourteen years now. He's been fighting the Turks, the French, and even the Pope. His armies sacked Rome about seven years ago."

"That's nothing new," she commented dryly. Rome was always being sacked.

"True," he agreed. "But it wasn't as bad as other times, and it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Martin Luther wanted Charles to string the Pope and the cardinals up from the gallows, skin them alive, and then burn them. Of course, that's what the Pope will do to him if he catches him."

"Who's Martin Luther?" Cassandra asked, as she finished the last bite of her stew.

"A German fellow, used to be a monk. He started out trying to reform the Church, now he's trying to replace it with his own. The Pope declared him a heretic, and he turned around and declared the Pope a wretched, accursed monster." Tak-Ne sipped at his wine. "There's been a lot of fighting about religion lately."

"That's nothing new, either," she said, disgusted with the entire mess of it. Crusades, inquisitions, persecutions, religious wars - it never stopped. Jesus of Nazareth would not recognize his own words anymore. Cassandra shrugged and stacked the bowls. There was nothing she could do about it.

Tak-Ne shook his head. "This is different. Entire countries are involved now, not just small groups of people here and there. I don't think the next century or so is going to be pleasant for Christians, no matter which church they belong to."

Cassandra couldn't do anything about that, either. "So, should we play chess, or should we go to bed?"

Tak-Ne stayed with her for almost a month, then went back to King Charles. Seven years later, in the spring of 1541, he returned, hunting for the Kurgan.

"I heard he was in the Highlands," Tak-Ne said, as he huddled in front of the fire, trying to get warm after his long ride in the rain. "He might have been looking for me."

"Maybe he was," she said, bringing him a mug of steaming tea, "but I think he found someone else." At his sharp look, she sat beside him on the bench and explained. "One of the village girls told me the story last month. Five years ago, a young warrior of the clan MacLeod was killed in battle by a very tall knight, but the warrior did not stay dead."

"I've heard the Kurgan likes to hunt pre-Immortals," Tak-Ne said grimly.

"Has he been searching for you through the years?" she asked, knowing what it was to be hunted.

He sipped at his tea, then shook his head. "I don't think so, and I don't hunt him, unless I hear he's nearby. I have better things to do with my life."

Cassandra stood and went to the fire, wishing Roland felt the same way, wishing she could live the same way. She tried to - tried to keep teaching, keep learning, keep living - but Roland was always waiting for her, somewhere.

Tak-Ne stretched out his feet to the fire, wiggling his toes. "It's been a long time since I had a student. Maybe I'll take on this fellow."

Roland had been her student once. She had taught him too much, and she was still paying for that mistake. She had helped him become the Voice of Death, and he loved to kill. He had killed her, many times, and the people she loved, but she could not kill him. A Prophecy had been made in the Temple of Artemis, almost three thousand years ago, a prophecy of a child, a Highland Foundling, born on the Winter Solstice, who would travel through darkness into light, and defeat the Voice of Death.

Cassandra wanted the Voice of Death dead, but she had to wait for the Highland Foundling to kill him. She had waited for three thousand years, and she was still waiting.

She hated waiting.

"What happened to your other student?" she asked, turning to Tak-Ne with a show of cheerful interest, trying to wipe all thoughts of Roland from her mind, not wanting Tak-Ne to know about her failure as a teacher. "The one from Hispania?"

"Ah, Rubio. We fought together against the Moors in Spain, and I saw him a few years ago at the royal court. He's doing well."

Cassandra nodded, not wishing to hear it. "How often have you met the Kurgan?" she asked, joining him on the bench and changing the subject again.

"We've met only three times: Babylon and Corinth, then some centuries ago, in China." He grimaced, a quick lift of eyebrows, a tightening of lips. "That last time I was lucky to get away with my head." He took another drink of tea, then asked, "What happened to the clansman who revived?"

"Just what you would expect," Cassandra said. "His tribe banished him as a witch. He was lucky he wasn't burnt at the stake."

Tak-Ne nodded. "Do you know his name?"

"Connor MacLeod."

Cassandra bought a horse for herself, and she and Tak-Ne hunted for the young Immortal all that spring, visiting the villages, traveling around the lochs and up the glens.

"You go along the north side of this loch," Tak-Ne suggested, one fine summer day, "and I'll go along the south. We'll meet at the other end."

They parted company with a kiss and a wave, and Cassandra rode to the village. The new Immortal was not there, and Cassandra went on. She was tired of looking, but the time of the Prophecy was near. She spurred her horse and rode on to the next village. The new Immortal was not there, either.

She traveled along the loch, with many detours to visit every small hamlet and every remote croft. Harvest-time was just beginning when she finally found him, on the south side of Loch Leven, in the glen of the River Coe. It was an open place, cleared of trees, and a tower of darkened stones stood stark and lonely at the top of a small rise. Tak-Ne was sitting in the shadow of the tower, sharpening his sword.

Cassandra sat and watched him for several moments, then finally rode down the hill. Tak-Ne came over to greet her, resplendent as always, dressed now in red velvet with a cape of peacock feathers about his shoulders. The clansman joined them, a young man with shoulder-length brown hair, braided away from his face. He was dressed in the sark and breacan common to the Highlands, the garb which reminded her of the Roman tunic and toga, though more brightly colored. His breacan was blues and greens, faded mostly to gray, with a pink stripe in the weave that might once have been red, and his sword was at his side.

A young woman in a blue gown came down the tower stairs, balancing a basket on her hip. Her head was bare, and the slight breeze tossed her blonde curls in front of her face. She stopped at the sight of Cassandra, and looked to the clansman for guidance.

"Cassandra," Tak-Ne greeted her, and she carefully did not show her annoyance at his use of her true name. He turned to the Highland couple and made a low sweeping bow, his plumed hat held off to one side. "May I present the Witch of Donan Wood?"

That name was not much better. The young woman gaped, and the new Immortal stepped back, his eyes flicking nervously from her to Tak-Ne.

Tak-Ne straightened and replaced his hat, then finished the introductions. "This is Connor MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod."

He nodded, his gray eyes still wary, and Cassandra nodded in return, scrutinizing him closely. A Highland Foundling, an Immortal. He could be the one. She controlled her impatience and turned to the woman, whom Tak-Ne was introducing as "Connor's wife, Heather."

Cassandra smiled warmly at the young woman, then took the pair of rabbits from her saddle horn and held them out to her. "I went hunting this morning, Dame MacLeod, and had good fortune. Shall I prepare them for us to eat?"

Heather nodded, reassured by the normality of the gesture, and the two women went to cook the evening meal, while the men headed off to spar. Cassandra used the persuasive power of the Voice to put Heather at her ease, and soon the two women were chatting like old friends.

"Ramirez is rather odd, but very charming," Heather confided as she kneaded the bread dough. "He's been here near a week now. He says he's going to teach Connor how to fight." She sighed and brushed her hair from her eyes, leaving a smear of flour across her forehead. "I hope it does not take too long. Connor's not been keeping up with the orders from the forge, he's been so busy swordfighting."

Cassandra merely nodded as she took the skin off a rabbit with her knife. The Game interfered with life in many ways. She chatted for a bit, then turned the discussion to birthdays.

"Connor's birthday?" Heather asked, as she shaped the dough into a round loaf. "Why, 'tis the day after Hogmanay, the first of January. He always says he can be assured of getting a drink somewhere on that day."

Cassandra kept the smile on her face as she whacked off the head of the second rabbit. Connor was not the one. She would have to wait. Again. She took off the feet with more sharp blows, then set about skinning the carcass.

The bread was rising near the fire and the rabbit stew was simmering in the pot when Cassandra and Heather went back outside. Connor and Tak-Ne turned at their approach and nodded, then resumed their conversation.

With a grin and a whispered, "Hush," in Cassandra's direction, Heather picked up a bucket of water, took a few steps closer to the men, then tossed the contents at her husband's back.

Tak-Ne stepped back with a curse, for some of the water had splashed on him, and Cassandra and Heather both laughed aloud.

Connor's reaction was silent, but much more vigorous. He whirled and charged at his wife, and she fled shrieking and laughing, trying - not very hard - to escape. Connor grabbed the bucket and filled it from the rain barrel, then cornered Heather at the bottom of the stairs. She made to dart past him, and he blocked her path, then upended the entire bucket of water over her head. They were both laughing as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, then the two of them started up the stairs.

"We're going to go get dry," Heather called over her shoulder with a triumphant grin, then squealed as Connor clapped his hand to her backside and hurried her inside.

"I don't think they'll be out for a while," Tak-Ne commented.

"No," she agreed, then she smiled at him. "There's a waterfall just down the hill," she said. "Should we go get wet?

"As long as I can take my clothes off first," he said, flicking at the water spots on his velvet sleeve.

"I think that is an excellent idea."

Cassandra and Tak-Ne lay naked in the grass, late summer sunshine warm on their skin. "What do you think of your new student?" she asked him.

Tak-Ne snorted, then rolled over on his back and closed his eyes against the brightness of the sun. "He's arrogant and impatient. He has the manners of a goat, and he's stupendously ignorant."

"A typical savage Highland barbarian," she said, propping her head up on one hand so she could look at him more easily. She liked looking at him, the strength in him, the powerful muscles in thighs and arms, the thick curling mat of gray hairs on his chest that felt so good to touch.

"Exactly," he agreed. "And he's stubborn and thick-headed, as well."

She smiled. "You like him."

Tak-Ne laughed. "That I do. He'll learn. He's brave and determined, and he's a good man."

She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. "And so are you." He laughed again, a contented chuckle, and his arm pulled her closer. She relaxed against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her leg between his, their hands clasped together. Butterflies veered about them, and the scent of the wildflowers floated heavy and sweet in the air. Cassandra lay quietly, just enjoying the sunshine and being with Tak-Ne.

For now.

"I'm glad we've had this time together, Tak-Ne," she told him. "This time of trust between us." He opened his eyes and smiled at her, and she dared to continue, very softly, "This time of love."

He rolled over, taking her with him, then kissed her gently as she lay beneath him. "I told you we could find love, if we looked for it together."

"And you were right," she said, then drew him to her once again.

Cassandra stayed with Tak-Ne and the MacLeods for four days, then said good-bye. "I'll leave you to your student," she said, as she and Tak-Ne stood outside in the rain, holding hands.

"You know where to look for me," he said, kissing her forehead in farewell.

"Yes," she said, forcing herself to smile, hoping the visions were wrong. "I'll look for you here."

It was a few days ride back to Donan Wood, but Cassandra sold her horse and walked most of the way. She settled in her cottage and began waiting again, waiting for the Highland Foundling to be born.

She was not waiting for Tak-Ne to come back to her this time.

Night had fallen, and the air was cold. The tall figure of a man stood dark against the sky, blocking out the stars, while another man knelt at his feet.

A sword swung down, and there was lightning and blood. Great black rocks tumbled, falling to earth, and flames soared high.

Silence and darkness came again.

Cassandra's eyes flew open, but she stayed where she was, curled on her side in bed. The fire had burned low. She stared at the flames and saw only death.

She let the tears come then, endless silent tears, alone in her bed, alone throughout the coming years, alone without her friend.

Tak-Ne was dead.

Cassandra

Glen Coe, Scotland
New Year's Day, 1997

Four and half centuries had passed since that night, and Cassandra still remembered that dream. A few months later, Connor had come to her in Donan Wood, and told her that the Kurgan had taken Tak-Ne's head, and that the tower had been destroyed by the Quickening. Tak-Ne had been buried under the stones.

Cassandra lay her hand on one of those stones, and watched as the flame flickered in the wind. The candle was almost gone. "The Kurgan is dead now, Tak-Ne," Cassandra said. "Your student avenged you; Connor took the Kurgan's head ten years ago. You were right about Connor; he is stubborn and arrogant." Very stubborn. "But he's a good man."

The tears came, and she welcomed them, tears of grief, tears of tribute, tears of love. "As were you. You were a man worthy of trust, and I wish I had let myself trust in you more.

"I miss you, Tak-Ne." She waited until the flame died, then stood and placed a rock on the cairn over his grave.

"I miss you still."

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Many thanks to Bridget Mintz Testa, Vi Moreau, Tanja Kinkel, Cathy Butterfield, and Robin Tennenbaum - excellent beta readers and very good friends. Special thanks to Liz Silver for proofreading.

About Ramirez

Ramirez was played by Sean Connery in the first two Highlander movies. He was born in 896 BCE in Egypt, with the name Tak-Ne, and was killed for the first time by being crushed by a runaway cart. He had three wives, the last being Shakiko, a Japanese princess, daughter of Masamune the sword-master. Masamune gave him the dragon-headed katana in 593 BCE. Ramirez met the Kurgan in Babylon, Greece, and China. (This line was filmed but cut from the movie.) Ramirez was chief metallurgist to King Charles of Spain (somewhere between 1520-1540), and he was beheaded by the Kurgan in the winter of 1542 at Connor and Heather's home in Glen Coe, Scotland.

Nowhere is it stated that the Kurgan raped and killed Ramirez's second wife, however, Ramirez and the Kurgan obviously didn't like each other, and I thought I would make it personal.

About Methos

Methos is Cassandra's unnamed first master, and he is, of course, not dead. However, for many years Cassandra believed that all of the Horsemen had been killed.

Historical Notes

- The canal across the Corinthian Isthmus was finally completed in the 1890s.

- Unwanted children were often abandoned, in many cultures and in many times. The midwife in the HL:TS episode Family Tree suggested the infant Duncan be "cast out for the dogs."

- King Sennacherib's Assyrian troops destroyed Babylon in 689 BCE.

- A Temple of Artemis on Lesbos burned c. 1200 BCE.

- The Roman town of Massalia eventually became Marseilles.

- The manorial system of feudalism (lords of the manor, serfs being bound to the land) got its start at the end of the Roman Empire.

References:

Bradley, K. R., Slave and Masters in the Roman Empire, Oxford University Press, 1987.

Garlon, Yvon, Slavery in Ancient Greece, Cornell University Press, 1988.

Lacey, W. K., The Family in Classical Greece, Cornell University Press, 1968.

Pomeroy, Sarah B., Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves - Women in Classical Antiquity, Shocken Books, 1975.

Wiedemann, Thomas, Greek and Roman Slavery, Croom Helm Ltd., 1981.