Of Biblical Proportions (3/11) IV Julia arrived at the dig late in the day. After locating her friend Samir, they spent the better part of the evening in his tent going over some data. She found the ideas he had fascinating and wondered how much of it was true. It was too bad Methos couldn't have joined them and corrected any mistaken assumptions. From the cover of the tent, Julia saw the oldest Immortal retire to his tent. "Who's that man?" she asked Samir. "A very superior, pain-in-the ass. His eyes have this way of narrowing when I've said something he doesn't agree with. I can only stand him in small doses, so I've done my best to avoid him." Julia laughed silently. She bet Methos had a few choice words about Samir, also. "Has he had any outlandish ideas that he's been able to find proof of?" "Sort of," came the disgruntled reply. Then he quickly changed the subject. They talked a few more hours, catching up on news and friends they had in common. Julia was very careful not to let a hint of her Watcher activities come out in their conversation. After it was quite late, Samir found her a cot and a place to sleep. V The noise outside the tent lessened as Methos felt slumber overtake him. It had been many years since he had slept on the sand instead of a comfy bed. He had left his outer tent flap open so the stars could shine on his face. His mind, succumbing to sleep, drifted from the present to the past. His body was trapped in the twentieth century, but his thoughts and memories were relived in dreams. The desert sounds brought him back to an earlier Egypt, the time of the last pharaoh--when he came to Alexandria while Cleopatra was still queen. Alexandria- c. 33 BCE Methos jumped out of the small barge that had carried him across the Nile. It had been a long and arduous journey from the city of Laodicea. He had studied medicine there for several seasons and had learned to make the miraculous eye salve. In his sack was a gift for Cleopatra, a black wool cape, suitable for nocturnal ventures. Even Egypt sometimes got cold. He had aspirations of working in the famed Museion--a literary treasure trove. As a learned scribe and world traveler, he hoped to engage the queen enough for her to allow his employment--despite his lack of "proper" credentials and introductions. It had been over two hundred years since he'd last been in Alexandria. Venders selling fruits and bread lined the streets. Tables and carts flooded the area, covered in everything from silk to calfskin. Methos stopped by one of the tables and purchased three calfskins for future writing. Calfskin was a much better buy than sheepskin because of durability. He expected to live a long life, which meant his journals had to last a long time. As a three thousand-year-old immortal, he considered himself a strong competitor in the game. Not many others had his power or experience, he believed arrogantly. Lost in his thoughts, Methos almost missed the front of the building he had come so far to invade. He looked with reverence at the high marble pillars with the sculpted muses along the top-- the nine muses of creative thought. A deep longing to once more be a part of the inner sanctum overcame sensible reason. With a deep breath, he entered. How much had been added since he last walked under these hallowed archways? "I am Apollonius, the head librarian. Can I help you?" Methos was startled, as the man seemed to appear from nowhere. "I am Metopholus. I wish to study from the great works stored here." The old man stared intently at him. "Will you have something to add to our collection?" Bribery at its highest form--this Methos understood. "I have come recently from Laodicea, where I studied with some great medical minds. I have some of their observations on scrolls." "You are a scribe?" "Yes, and a doctor. I have studied extensively in Rome, then Athens, then through many of the great cities in Asia Minor and Syria. Now I have come to Egypt." It felt like he was back home, Methos thought to himself. "Your hair is a paler color than the Romans I am accustomed to seeing," the librarian stated tartly. "No, I was born further north. When Caesar came through and conquered Gaul, I was made a Roman citizen." Methos gave a fake smile. "I was taken by a centurion as a servant. When he finally returned to Rome, he saw my mind was bent on learning so he sent me to the finest schools where I learned philosophy and medicine. I have never enjoyed the intricacies of government. Too complex for my taste." "Fine. We can always use a good scribe. Do you want work or are you just planning on studying during the day?" "Work and a place to stay. Can you recommend a good establishment?" Methos was hoping to stay on the palace grounds. Apollonius appeared deep in thought. "There are several good places in the city that cater to a man with money. Or, if you wish, I can ask and see if there is a room available here at the Museion. Many of our scholars prefer to live here. Your choice." "Living here would suit me." Methos was eager to begin. "Let me find someone to show you the different rooms we have here. Today, you learn your way around. Tomorrow morning, I shall assign you a series of articles you will need to learn and then be tested on. There's Nebamun. He's equal to the task." The old librarian left Methos standing alone and walked over to talk privately to the other scholar. Soon both returned. Nebamun looked pleased to have been given this duty. "I am pleased to meet you, Metopholus." Nebamun held out his arm to grasp Methos in the Roman way of greeting. Methos returned the gesture. "I am anxious to see this beautiful place of learning. I have heard about it in many lands." Nebamun led him from the front deeper into the inner sanctum. The rooms were large with ceilings that went high into the sky. Each of them was connected like links in a chain. Just beneath the ceiling, along the perimeter of the various rooms, was a series of windows. This enabled the readers to take advantage of sunlight during the day. Marble tables and benches were arranged around the open floor. Several benches were occupied, with scrolls spread out and people hard at work reading them. Methos wanted to join them now. So much knowledge was there for the taking. He had read the whole collection the last time he had been here, and he eagerly awaited reading the new additions. "Let me show you where we keep the many texts we have stored here." Nebamun led him across the room and opened a door leading into a much smaller room. Shelves ran all around the walls, with many scrolls lying on them. It resembled a beehive with each scroll making a cell. "You see, there are labels identifying the individual works." "I see them." Methos went over and touched a wooden nametag, tied to the knobs. "This says Herophilus of Chalcedon." "He was a master of Alexandrian medicine two hundred years ago," his guide explained. "Many of our current physicians make a point of learning his work." Methos remembered the doctor well. They had studied together and argued over the many fine points of healing and ridding the body of ill-humors. Herophilus had been a master of bones and how they came together. "Over here in the baskets are the multi-scrolled collections," Nebamun continued. "Their labels are located on the basket's handles." Methos was very impressed with the way it was all organized. Instead of adding indiscriminantly to the shelves, they had invented an identification system. It hadn't been present two hundred years ago. "I am very interested in the medical writings. Could we come back later?" "Of course. Shall we find Apollonius? He has probably located a place for you to sleep." Methos nodded, but gave a last lingering look at the many scrolls stored in the room. Soon, he promised himself. The necessities first. Apollonius was just coming through the large entryway into the large reading room. "I have good news for you, my friend. There is room for you in the student's dormitory. Several have just left to carry out familial and temple duties. Does this please you?" "Very much," Methos replied with a grateful smile. "I look forward to my learning experience under your careful tutelage." "You take a lot for granted, young man. I am very busy. What makes you think I will take care of your education personally?" "I am an exceptional student. I think you will want to take advantage of the knowledge I already possess. If only for the reputed eye salve I have learned to make," Methos mentioned slyly. He wanted to be a senior researcher, so he would have unlimited access to the numerous scrolls. To start on the bottom rung of the hierarchy was unthinkable. It would take too long to earn the master's confidence. The signs were present that Egypt would soon come under Octavian's dominance, and Methos wanted to be long gone before war broke out. "Before we make elaborate promises, we'll see what you can do. Nebamun, take Metopholus to the Everlasting Light Room. You will like it there," Apollonius assured Methos. "The windows are strategically placed to allow for the maximum amount of sunlight in a day. You will share it with only three others." Methos couldn't tell if the head librarian was scolding him for his impudence, or if indeed this was a good room. "Thank you, master. It will allow me to use my time to the utmost." Methos turned to follow Nebamun when he remembered the black wool cloak and turned back to Apollonius to say, "Do you have the ear of Queen Cleopatra? I have a gift for her from the mountains of Laodicea." He pulled out the black wool bundle and saw the two men's eyes widen in appreciation. "You must have held a place of some importance there," Apollonius commented, piercing Methos with his direct gaze. "I did," Methos admitted. "I will see that she gets it." The librarian went to take the cloak. "No." Methos pulled it out of his grasp. "I would prefer to present this to her myself." The Immortal turned to his guide. "I'm ready to see my quarters now." Apollonius nodded to Nebamun. Methos smiled inwardly. No doubt, Cleopatra would have received the gift, but the giver would have been Apollonius. He would have to watch his step. The Ptolemy dynasty were known for their lack of loyalty--to anyone--especially members of their own family. It appeared her officials shared the same philosophy. As the two men traversed the many passageways through the library, out onto a courtyard, then into another palace building, Methos remembered the first Ptolemy and how much he had despised the man. Alexander had known his general well. Ptolemy's placement as the ruler of Egypt had been a deliberate part of Alexander's strategy to keep his newly won lands under Greek influence. The Ptolemy family had remained in power for many generations, despite their familial assassinations. Cleopatra was the first woman to head the family, and Methos was curious to meet her. "This is where you can sleep." Nebamun led him into a large airy room with six beds made of woven reeds. Each had a wooden headrest. A vent on the roof let in the north wind. At the moment, the room was an oven. But when the sun went down, Methos was sure it cooled down nicely. The sound of a group of men conversing together interrupted their discourse. Nebamun stepped aside as three others entered the room. They were of different nationalities, yet they all talked in Greek. "This is Metopholus," Nebamun introduced Methos. "And this is Arqamani, Martius, and Labrienus." Methos nodded his greetings. The three men all wore the tunic, a native form of clothing. "Are you Roman?" Labrienus asked with suspicion clouding his voice. "No. I come from a conquered land. A centurion named me." The three looked at him with interest. "Do you remember the name given to you by your parents?" Martius spoke, his voice pitched high, indicating that he might be a eunuch. It was common to find them studying; their masters funded their education in order for them to better serve when the eunuchs return home. Methos laughed at the irony of a eunuch named after the god of war, Mars. "Goibnui," Methos lied, as he named himself after the Celtic god of iron. Nebamun inserted, "He is new here. Apollonius has placed him with you. Make sure he gets to the Clio Reading Room tomorrow. He will take up his beginning studies there." "We will see to it," Labrienus promised. Methos could see that this Roman was the leader of the three. He would do better to let him continue his role. "Are all the reading rooms named after a muse?" the Immortal asked. "There are more reading rooms than muses, but yes, each muse has a room named after her. You have been assigned Clio, who presides over history. I think Apollonius wishes you to learn Egyptian history first." Methos laughed to himself. What would the good librarian do if he learned how Methos had shaped Egyptian history? He knew in detail how Egypt overthrew the Hyksos. The warm memory of Nebet made his eyes water. It was so long ago--fifteen hundred years had passed--but it felt like yesterday. "Metopholus, are you unwell?" Martius asked, concerned. "I am fine," he responded. "I have dust in my eyes from my long journey." "I'll get a basin of water for you to wash." Arqamani was speeding on his errand. This one must spend most of his time attending to the other two. His learned role of servant was deeply ingrained. "Here you are." Arqamani placed the round bowl on the floor and back away from it. "Thank you." Methos was grateful for the water. He dipped an edge of his tunic into the water and proceeded to wash his dusty face. "We are going into the city now to get some refreshment and some drinks. Are you too tired," Labrienus asked snidely, "or do you wish to join us?" "I am not too tired, only dirty." Methos wrung out the excess water and stood. "I would like to join you."