Of Biblical Proportions (7/11) Part 3 June, 1999 I The knocking on the door woke him from a sound sleep. Methos was totally disoriented. He rubbed his sleep-gritted eyes. The knocking continued while he gathered his wits. "I know you're in there, Pierson," the voice called out from the other side of the door. He slumped back down in bed. "There's food on a tray sitting out here. It sure smells good." Reluctantly he sat up once more and proceeded to the door and flung it open. Amy Zoll, red faced and exceedingly angry, greeted him holding his tray of food. "Come in," he told her, abruptly taking the tray and carrying it over to the table. As he passed the huge mirror behind the hotel's dresser, he got a glimpse of his now dried hair, sticking up in all angles. He looked a sight. "Did I wake you?" she asked in a voice that almost sounded pleased. "Yes." He sat and began eating. His nonchalant attitude made her squirm a bit. First she paced, and then she sat primly on one of the chairs opposite to him at the table. "Were you hoping I'd go away if you didn't answer the door?" she asked. Methos could see her hand shaking, whether from fear or from just intense emotion he couldn't tell, but she was determined. "Would it have worked?" he asked innocently. She scowled back. "No. Have you talked to Joe Dawson yet?" "There's a message at the front desk that he needs to speak to me but I fell asleep." Methos hated it when he sounded defensive. He began to remember his dream. Ancient Egypt. Museion scrolls. Weren't they the ones in his car? "What are you going to do about it?" Amy asked. He didn't really hear her. His brain was sifting through facts and memories, trying to find a connecting thread. Wasn't there something in those scrolls about the Methuselah Stone and its history? Alexandria- c. 31 BCE News of Antony's defeat in Actium spread quickly in Alexandria. The only thing that was more newsworthy was how the famous general dealt with the loss--he hid. Methos could see a trend in Antony's actions. With victory, he journeyed to Rome to proclaim the news, but in defeat, he buried his head figuratively in Cleopatra's bosom. Methos shook his head in disgust. The only important fact to come from this intelligence was that his time at the famous library was now drawing to a close. Lately, he had been working at copying the scrolls for a new purpose. Antony gave Cleopatra an exorbitant gift of the library in Pergamon. All their scrolls were sent to Alexandria. Feeling pleased, yet guilty, she asked Nebamun to make copies of their precious scrolls to send back. Methos was recruited to this purpose. This way both libraries benefited. The Museion was crowded. The marble tables were filled with unrolled scrolls and people reading them. Methos wandered from the main room and headed through the familiar archways to the Clio reading room. Nebamun was seated, copying from one scroll onto a blank piece of parchment. "Metopholus. I am overloaded with things I must finish today. Would you copy the Maxims of Ptahhotpe? The queen wants it for Caesarian." Methos dutifully sat and began the arduous business of copying the boring primer. What did the young prince need with it? It was something he must have studied years ago. Maybe Cleopatra needed to make a point? With precise strokes, Methos wrote, "Teach him what has been said in the past, then he will set a good example to the children of the magistrates, and judgement and all exactitude shall enter into him." What king ever listened to good advice? When Caesarian ascended the throne of Egypt, his entire being would be obsessed with Rome--if he lived that long. Methos believed that Octavian would never allow it. As he was finishing the last line, an Immortal presence overwhelmed him. Stilling his involuntary panic, he rose from his seat and strode to the door. A Roman general was walking into the main reading room, followed by two Macedonian House Guards, acting as guides. The Immortal general looked up, but already Methos had fled the doorway. "Excuse me, Nebamun, I need some refreshment. I shall return shortly." He bowed his head and slid out the side door into a storage room. Without sparing a glance at the labeled scrolls, he strode through the room and out the opposite door from which he had entered. He found himself in a maze of one room leading off of another, all lined with scroll sockets. Then he entered one without another door--a dead end. To his great surprise he found that it was almost devoid of scrolls. The suddenness of the emptied room made him stop short. The Immortal presence had stopped, so the escape imperative had dwindled and curiosity overtook him. The shelves were lined in dust. Even the floor showed the imprints from his sandals. All three walls of the small room were lined with shelves, but the sockets were empty except for a single shelf on the left side. He lifted out a scroll and unrolled it. The skin was darkened and brittle, showing it to be a very old document. Parts broke off and fell into the dust. The script was Hebrew, possibly more than 500 years old. Methos felt himself sink to the floor and ignored the dust as it rose up around him. His mind was already buried deep in the story. June, 1999 "Pierson? Are you okay?" The immortal jumped, his mind ripped from his memories back into the present. "I'm thinking. Remember, I just woke up. My mind is not fully in the here and now." Methos thought about the pile of Egyptian texts and his personal journals back in his car. There had to be something in them--something that might help MacLeod. His eyes were steady on the Watcher as he debated with himself the wisdom of what he was about to suggest. She wasn't his greatest ally, but she wasn't his greatest critic either. In a weird kind of way, she was still a colleague. "What?" she asked at his continued stare. "I have a pile of--" "You're going to blow him off?!" Amy, interrupted, looking at him incredulously. "I can't believe it. He's your friend. MacLeod has stuck by you when--" "Do you think I could finish my sentence before you lambaste me with your righteous indignation?" he asked, stopping her flow of words. "Fine," she spit out. "The reason I went to the site at Giza was because I needed to retrieve some of my things I had buried there. There are scrolls that I copied from the great Library in Alexandria while Cleopatra was queen. They need preserving. Some of the texts are just personal journals that I kept during my time there. They're in my car right now." He could see her ire change to curiosity. He had her hooked. "They need to be taken care of--" "Julia's gonna love them." "Right. Some are mine," he stressed. "They're nobody's business but mine--understand?" "Yep." She looked eagerly over at the table and floor. "Will you help me carry them up? I think there are a couple that might deal with the Methuselah Stone." "They mention it by name?" She looked awed. "I'm not sure. I haven't thought of those scrolls in two thousand years. I don't remember what's exactly on them." "Then let's go bring 'em up."