Methos awoke to see Duncan perched on the side of the bed.
"Mac?" He said, voice still thick from sleep. "Where's Catriona?"
"With Joe in the lounge. My God Methos! What the hell was going on?"
"It's a long story and I will tell you, but later, first I want to see Catriona." He started to get up, but Duncan pushed him back down.
"Oh no you don't Methos, you're staying right where you are. I'll tell Joe you're awake."
It was Methos' first instinct to resist but instead he found himself meekly submitting to Duncan. He sank back down on the bed again with a sigh feeling as if he'd been run over with a steam roller.
When Duncan entered the lounge Joe was nowhere to be seen. Catriona was curled up in the large easy chair with her head on one side, obviously asleep. He was about to leave the room in search of Joe when she opened her eyes. Sitting up quickly she asked "Is he awake?"
Nodding, Duncan said "Yes, and he wants to see you, but please don't go in there until I fetch Joe." His tone spoke of disapproval.
She shrugged. "Whatever you say Duncan but you needn't worry, I am not going to hurt him you know."
"That remains to be seen." He said as he left the room.
Sighing, she rose from the chair and went to wait near the door for Joe and Duncan. As they entered she stood back, letting them through the door first then she followed them into Methos' room. Duncan sat again on the edge of the bed, Joe stood a little to one side and Catriona stayed just inside the door. Methos sat in the centre of the bed, arms wrapped around his knees, his chin resting there. Joe spoke first.
"So how are you feeling now?" He ventured.
"Fine, tired but otherwise OK." Said Methos, running his hand through his hair, his voice a little flat - betraying the effort it took to keep speaking.
"How much do you remember?" Joe asked leaning against the wall.
"I remember coming in from walking all night. I remember having coffee. I remember going out on to the back porch because I felt shut in. Then I remember slipping back into the past - until Catriona was there. talking to me, trying to pull back out of it."
"Where were you in your mind Methos?" Duncan said, leaning forward and regarding him anxiously.
Methos sighed and rubbed his hands across his face. He looked down, refusing to meet their eyes.
"I was in Belsen, looking for two boys named Tobias and David. David was five years old and his brother Tobias was seven. I had worked with their father Leon in Romania. We were part of an underground escape network. We were caught forging papers and arrested by the Gestapo. After we were arrested we were sent to Auschwitz together..the whole group of us, but when we were moved to Belsen Leon was not on our transport. After I had been in Belsen eight months the two boys arrived, unaccompanied. Normally children of that age would have been sent to the women's camp. For some reason they were left in the men's camp. No one else was under sixteen years of age. It was difficult to do anything to help them. There was little time to spare in caring for children. We were not housed together. It was hard enough in any case getting oneself through the day. We were occupied, and had been almost since arrival there, with the digging of ditches around the camp. Ostensibly these were for drainage, but they soon became mass graves due to the level of disease in the camp and the lack of medicine or adequate food. The camp was built to house forty thousand prisoners, but at its height there were over four times that many of us incarcerated there. In order to cope with the extra prisoners, once the huts were full to overflowing, most of us were accommodated in tents. At first the boys were in one of the huts and I rarely saw them. I tried to keep an eye on them when I could, making sure that they got their share of the food that was available trying to keep the guards from turning their attentions to them. I wasn't always successful but I had to try. At that time I didn't even know their names, but that they were Leon's sons was undeniable, he had been so proud of them ..always showing off their pictures to us in the print shop.
Then, in December 1944, almost four months after the boys arrived, a new Camp Commandant was sent to us. Dr Josef Kramer. He had been at Auschwitz when we were there and we knew he was a monster..a friend and mentor of Dr Mengele. He instituted a new regime. Hours of head counts at all hours of the day and night. Cuts in rations. Extra ditch digging. Floggings and shootings for minor offences became commonplace. He started random gassings in make-shift chambers underground....forged from some of the ditches we had dug. He kept and bred dogs and delighted in setting them on the prisoners, watching the dogs tear the weakest limb from limb. He hoarded supplies of food and medicine intended for the inmates and he and his officers indulged in a comparatively lavish lifestyle in their compound.
When the food ration was cut to coffee at six and soup with bread at midday it became even more difficult to ensure that the boys got their share. Everyone was so hungry. Also some of those who had been captured with us maintained that the reason Leon had not been moved with us was because he had betrayed us and they were less inclined to help the boys because of that. The only thing to do was to try and bribe the guards or other prisoners. I know that even that didn't always work, but again I had to try."
"What did you bribe them with?" Asked Duncan, unable to imagine that Methos had had anything left of value at that time to bargain with.
"Clothing. My boots, coat, a pair of gloves. I sold my hair. Eventually all that was left to me was my own food ration. Life continued like this for some time. sometimes I would go days without seeing the boys, but each time I did they looked worse. They were thin, emaciated, covered in sores. their hair and teeth were falling out. They were terrified and bewildered. God knows how they survived as long as they did. Eventually the hut they were housed in became so full of dead and decaying bodies that the SS condemned it and moved the handful of survivors into the tents."
"Tobias and David were billeted in my tent but I didn't realise at first. There were six hundred of us in a tent made for one hundred and fifty. We slept sitting up, leaning against each other for support. It was cold. There were no blankets . The only warmth available was from the meagre food ration or from movement, which most of us lacked the energy for. On the night the boys were moved to my tent it was below freezing. It was December, there was a howling north easterly gale blowing and torrential rain. The tent was so thin and worn that eventually it collapsed under the onslaught of the weather. It was then that I saw the boys. They were huddled together, crying and shivering. They were so thin that it seemed impossible they should still be alive, though I suppose most of us looked like that by then, but on two such young children it was horrifying to see. They were ill. Dying from the typhus. They were crying for their Papa. I tried to comfort them as best I could through the night but by morning they were both dead. I wanted to bury them but the guards took their bodies from me and pushed me into line for Appell. Later I discovered that Kramer and Klein had taken several bodies, including the two boys', and had tried experiments in grafting human body parts to living animals."
Methos' voice had become increasingly strained during his long recitation. Neither Joe nor Duncan could ever recall him speaking for so long at one time. Nor had he ever told either of them so much of his past before. Even describing the events with the Horsemen had been left mostly to Cassandra, Methos merely affirming what she had said or their own assessments of his past actions. Now Methos looked drained and his breathing was shallow. He could not continue his story. he lowered his head and whispered, so that he was barely audible.. "Yet again I failed." There were tears streaming down his face but he made no sound at all.
Duncan placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You did what you could Methos, you did your best."
"Did I?" Methos raised his head. "Well if that's my best Duncan it's hardly better than my worst." There was silence for a long moment and then he looked at Catriona. "I wanted to thank you for what you did. I think we should have a talk sometime soon - but right now I can barely think straight. Can I come and see you?"
"Any time Methos. Anytime, you know that. As for helping.....you are more than welcome." She looked at Joe "I think I should go, if my things are dry that is?"
Joe nodded. "I'll fetch them for you and give you a ride back."
"Thanks Joe." She glanced again at Methos, then at Duncan who was studiously ignoring her. "I'll leave you two to it then." She said as she followed Joe out of the room.
"I don't believe you Methos! Thanking her after what she did. If she hadn't meddled and triggered this..." Duncan said incredulously.
Methos rounded on him angrily, eyes flashing. "God's Duncan! Is that what you think? Well let me disabuse you of that right now. I've been having these flashbacks for months. Catriona is not responsible. I was way out of it out there Duncan. She pulled me back from the brink . If not for her I might have attacked Joe and God knows what else."
"Attack Joe? Why in God's name would you do that?
"I was so out of it I was convinced that Joe, with his stick, was Kramer. I was terrified of him. All my dreams of Kramer end the same way - I lash out at Kramer..I want to kill him for what he did. The fact that I know he was hung after Nuremberg, that I saw him hung, has not alleviated my desire for revenge in any way. So instead of giving Catriona the cold shoulder treatment you should be thanking her, for Joe's sake as much as mine."
He lay back on the bed again and closed his eyes. "God's I am so tired." He murmured.
Indeed Methos looked as if he had run out of steam. His eyes were sunken and there were marked circles of dark grey under them. His skin was stretched tight across his brow and cheekbones. Duncan noticed it had an almost translucent quality about it. He'd never seen him so thin and frail looking..when he'd undressed him he had been able to count every rib easily. He knew without a doubt though that Methos had to have been so much thinner during his time at Belsen. He had seen the photographs of the dead and the survivors of that dreadful camp, the only way to tell the dead from the living had been that the living could move whilst the dead could not. The pictures had revolted and angered him. To still be alive and yet be nothing more than a skeleton covered in skin..no flesh on the bones had seemed impossible..but it had been true. Methos must have looked like that too. The amount of will power it must have taken to survive in such conditions was something he was not sure he possessed, indeed he found it difficult to imagine such a life. Even greater..the will power it must have taken to give up your own food ration in such conditions! Knowing that you could not die permanently from starvation did not prevent the attendant suffering that went with it. And to die in such a place, under the watchful eyes of a mean who had been a mentor of Mengele would have been dangerous in the extreme, yet Duncan was sure Methos must have died several times..it would have been unavoidable..from the conditions alone. If such a man had discovered Methos was immortal he would not have rested until he had tortured him to find the 'secret' of everlasting life.
Duncan swallowed hard at the thought of all that Methos must have had to endure. The horseman had reigned for a thousand years..and in all that time even they had not managed to engineer cruelty, torture and death on the scale achieved by the Nazis and their methods within a mere twelve years. That realisation brought Duncan up short. It was something he had never considered before. The unease he had felt, even after the reconciliation between he and Methos, had all been based on the difficulty he had with a vision of Methos as a mass murderer. He also realised that, despite all of his protestations to the contrary, he had continued to judge Methos and keep him at arms length. And yet through all this Methos had continued to make selfless efforts to help him come to terms with his own dark and violent past during the Stephen Keane affair and even after he had killed Richie - he had offered comfort and support..refusing to judge him. Yet none of this sacrifice on Methos' part had served to make Duncan any easier in his mind about Methos' past
He heard Methos' voice again in his mind.."What I've been you can't forgive, it's not in your nature. Well you accept it." .. Until this moment he truly thought he had come to an acceptance of it, but now he realised he had simply pushed the whole thing to the back of his mind - dismissing it from his thoughts altogether. So the question remained. In fact it was complicated by what he had just learned. How could the same man have been compassionate and caring toward the two boys in Belsen and a murdering monster three thousand years earlier?
He still couldn't reconcile the two images, but he knew it Was his failing and not something he could lay at Methos' door. Then there was his own treatment of Catriona. His tendency to judge people almost instantly was something that Methos, Joe and even Connor had castigated him for in the past. It seemed that he was still very prone to jump to conclusions. Guiltily he thought back over his reactions to Catriona since she had met Methos the previous evening. He knew he owed her an apology and he was not one to put these things off. However, he did not want to leave Methos on his own yet, even though the elder immortal was sleeping once more. He also needed to talk to Joe before he left. He was disturbed by what Methos had told him and felt he should warn Joe of the danger he could be in should the past crowd in on their friend again. Somehow, he mused, life was far from simple of late. Placing the covers over the still form on the bed he picked up a book from the dresser. He looked at the spine and smiled 'Aristotle's Poetics'! Trust Methos to choose something so erudite for his bedtime reading. Tucking it under his arm he moved through to the lounge and settled down to read.
Catriona settled back in the seat of Joe's car and viewed the torrential rain with distaste. "Does it ever stop?" She asked Joe.
"Well we are definitely in one of the wettest regions of the country. I thought you'd be used to it. Doesn't it rain a lot in the highlands of Scotland?"
"Aye, that it does and when it's not raining there's the mist." God reduced to talking about the weather, how typically British, she thought. Then, taking a deep breath she turned to Joe, a serious look on her face. "Joe? I need to tell you something.... well a couple of things - one of them I should tell Adam. The woman in my vision, I know who she is...."
"Cassandra?" Queried Joe.
"How did you know?" She regarded him open mouthed.
"Well I've been trying to think who hated him that much - narrowing down the possibilities wasn't all that difficult." Joe said dryly.
"Right. Well that's what I need to tell Adam..or you can maybe." She swallowed and looked away from Joe, trying to see out of the passenger window without success.
"And the other thing?" Joe prompted.
She paused for a second before saying. " Well I hope you won't think that I'm interfering here Joe, but please - take this as a word of friendly advice - don't be on you own with Adam for the foreseeable future." She blushed and stole a quick look at Joe.
Joe, rather than taking umbrage as she had feared, merely grunted and nodded his agreement. Turning the car into a space outside Catriona's building he switched off the ignition and turned to look at her. "You think there's some danger involved in being alone with him?"
"You saw how he was just now Joe. I don't think it's the first time and I doubt it will be the last. He wasn't aware of you as Joseph Dawson, friendly neighbourhood watcher and blues bar owner. He was afraid of you. Fear has funny ways of manifesting itself as I am sure you are aware. Sometimes the best form of defence is offence. I am just afraid that if he has another fit of what we saw earlier his fear might be subsumed by rage and lead to violence." Catriona watched Joe's face, she saw he understood and she saw his concern.
"Duncan! Duncan is alone with him!"
Duncan has a few advantages over you in this sort of situation - unless they come to swords he's not likely to receive any permanent injury. You, as a mortal on the other hand, are vulnerable."
"I see what you mean, but what about you? You were alone with him for almost half an hour in my back yard."
"I, Joe, have other advantages - if need be I can take a direct line to wherever he is in his subconscious, and I have a few other tricks up my sleeve. I didn't study all my life to become an Ollamh for nothing you know." She smiled at him. " I sang him to sleep once - I could do it again if necessary and that's not the only weapon in my armoury. however, I want to use them sparingly and I mean him no harm. I hope you understand that?"
"Yes, I do. But are you telling me you 'cast a spell' on him?" Joe's face showed his incredulity and his tone of voice echoed it.
"Well if you want to put it that way, and I suppose you could. I used my voice to reach his subconscious. It's really not that special a gift."
"Duncan seems to think it is. He says that Cassandra does the same thing. Does that mean you can persuade people to do things against their will?" Joe's face was hard now.
"It would certainly be possible Joe, but it would also be unethical and against all the precepts of my training except in the most dire of circumstances. From what little I know about Cassandra it would seem that she specialises in using her voice that way and has no ethical qualms about it. I however do not operate in that way. My purpose is always to seek out the truth and reinforce or restore coercion."
"Can you conceive of any time when you might resort to that method?" Joe asked, his face softening slightly.
"In defence of the truth or to save lives and restore the balance it is always a last resort Joe and I have never used my voice in that way. I sincerely hope that I never have to." Joe nodded in apparent satisfaction.
"Well I'll keep my ear to the ground for news of Cassandra. Thanks for the advance warning. As to the other. I guess I'll ask Mac to sick around for a while."
Catriona breathed a sigh of relief. " Great idea Joe. Well I had best let you get back home - and I have work to do. Thanks for the lift. Let me know if there is anything at all I can do...night or day OK? I have a feeling we are not out of the woods yet."
"Absolutely. And thanks again for your help. You keep in touch too OK?" He said as she released her belt and opened the door.
"I will Joe, I promise. Take care now." And then she was gone into the rain.
Joe sat mulling over the events of the past few hours for a while before sighing a little and turning the car back toward town. Mac would have to manage by himself for a while longer he decided. he needed to drop by the bar and arrange a new rota with his staff. It looked as though he would be a bit of an absentee landlord for the next few days at least.