The drive to Alexandria the next morning had been mostly uneventful, except for Daniel's never ending stream of questions. Methos didn't really mind answering them and talking kept the boy from thinking about the loss of Yasmin Nazuq and her erstwhile colleagues. While O'Neill had reported the situation to General Hammond, it had been agreed that at present no action could be taken to remove the bodies. It was doubtful whoever had killed them would come back, but the stakes at the moment were just too high to take that chance.

When they reached the outskirts of the city, Methos wended their way up an old road until they came to the outer wall that marked the beginning of the property. The house was set on a hill top and the old stone gleamed a cool white in the late morning sunlight.

He sensed Ptahsennes as he pulled into the front drive where the stables had once been, though the mud brick structure was long since gone. Methos got out as a shadow appeared in a window then smiled as he saw his old friend opening the door.

"Methos!" Ptahsennes called out as he strode forward. "You son of a diseased camel mated with a braying ass! Welcome old friend!"

Methos laughed, holding out his arms as the stout Immortal, older in appearance though a hand span shorter, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him tight. "It's good to see you too," he smiled, hugging him back. "I see you're still shaving your head, you sun shriveled lump of dried beetle dung."

The other man rubbed his bald pate. "The old ways are still the best," Ptahsennes grinned. "Now, introduce me to your very pretty boy."

Daniel raised an eyebrow at that and promptly introduced himself. "Dr. Daniel Jackson," he said in the same ancient dialect Ptahsennes had been speaking, offering his hand. "It's an honor, revered father. And Methos and I are colleagues."

"A doctor who speaks the old tongue?" Ptahsennes asked warily. "Not another tomb robber are you?"

"Uh, no," Daniel answered carefully. "I'm currently employed as a linguist."

"Ah," Ptahsennes nodded, finally taking his hand. "That is better. The old tongue is still the most beautiful, even spoken badly by the likes of a western carrion eater such as yourself."

Methos chuckled at Daniel's confused expression. "Thank the man, Danny. That was a compliment."

"Uh, thanks...I think."

Ptahsennes guided them into the house past stacks of records piled nearly to the ceiling. "If he is not your current favorite," he murmured softly in Methos' ear. "Pray tell, old friend, how he comes to know of our kind?"

"An accident of chance," Methos explained just as quietly. "But he is loyal and holds his tongue."

"The two most useful virtues," Ptahsennes agreed, laying the matter to rest. "Come into the garden and see my fruit trees," he offered in a normal tone. "Cool and fragrant after a morning in the hot sun. Girl!" he called to an old woman sweeping the floor who looked to be at least ninety. "Bring wine for my friends and I. And some of those little pastries you sneak when you think I'm not watching." She snorted in derision, though her shoulders shook with mirth as she scurried off.

"In the old days," he confided to Daniel. "I would have beaten her for that. But she has been with me many years and good servants without tongues are hard to find."

Daniel looked a little pale as he settled on a pillow beneath the shade of an orange tree, but Methos ignored him, sprawling on the grass while Ptahsennes took the stool beside him. Like a proper guest, he waited until the servant had brought their refreshments and his host opened the conversation.

"So, why have you come, old friend? Still looking for that stash you think you left behind? I promise you, the pharaoh's guards were very thorough in their search. I had a difficult time putting the place back in order."

"Stash?" Daniel asked curiously.

Methos rolled his eyes. "93 BC," he explained. "I billed myself as a Phonecian trader. Had a marvelous little business going in costly spices and unguents."

"With a most excellent sideline in opium," Ptahsennes interjected, smiling.

Daniel's eyes went wide. "You dealt drugs?"

"It wasn't like that back then," Methos sighed. "No one cared who was toasted and who wasn't. The entire western world," he raised his cup, "was pretty much sloshed most of the time anyway. The water killed you, so we all drank beer or wine. And it wasn't selling opium that got me in trouble."

"No," Ptahsennes laughed. "It was not selling opium! This one," he gestured at Methos. "Sold the drug at a fair price to anyone, but saved his best tricks for the families of his dear departed customers. Such a devout man they all thought when he would come to offer his wares as the priests purified the body. He'd bring gifts of sweet oil and sandalwood then sell them enough dope at half price to last the deceased an eternity in the underworld. Only it wasn't opium in those little bottles he put in the tombs. It was a paste of floured water!"

Methos chuckled. "If that whining little bastard Diomenes hadn't robbed his uncle's tomb and found me out, I'd have been a richer man today."

"You were a scam artist, too?!" Daniel gasped.

"Don't look so shocked," Methos smirked. "And, come to think of it, you should be grateful. Just whom do you think invented the free sample?"

Ptahsennes laughed. "Ah," he sighed. "Those were good days."

"No they weren't," Methos disagreed amiably. "No cars, no films, no air conditioning. Always worrying about money. I, for one, would not go back there."

"If you hadn't spent everything you earned on those damn books of yours you'd have had money," Ptahsennes reminded him gently. "As for the rest... It would be just as well if it never happened. Who needs a car when there are horses, camels and donkeys? Why does everyone these days want to go fast? The business will wait. If not, then perhaps it was not worth the trouble. And films? Bah! Men in blue tights and red capes flying about saving the world. Men could save their own world if they would but listen to the gods. And air conditioning," he shook his head as Methos chuckled, having heard it all before. "Gives me a headache. All that cold unnatural air. Here it is pleasant," he looked with satisfaction around his garden. "And business can be done just as well in the shade of a fruit tree, can it not?"

"It can indeed," Methos allowed his old friend. "And speaking of business..."

"Yes," Ptahsennes smiled. "I was wondering when you'd get to that, old lion."

"Shishak," Methos said, watching Ptahsennes' eyes light up.

"A good pharaoh, even if he was of the Lybian line. Don't tell me you're seeking the lost treasures of Solomon this time?" the old Egyptian laughed. "Will you never learn?"

"It's the boy," he twitched his head in Daniel's direction, feeling no compunction about lying to his old friend. He was Methos, and it was, after all, expected. "He wants to prove a theory to his fellow historians. That Shishak built a treasure city in the desert, out near the Oasis of Atum-Ra."

Ptahsennes nodded. "A difficult business that," he murmured. "So much rivalry between the priests at the time. I remember it well. Tanlit, he called it. And yes, he brought his treasures there."

Now Daniel spoke up. "So, what happened to it?"

"No one knows for certain," Ptahsennes told him honestly. "The Judeans claimed it was their god who destroyed the city. But why their god would not have destroyed Shishak's army on the spot, before the pharaoh carried off the contents of his temple has never been adequately explained to me. I do know that those who carried the treasure into Egypt later died horribly of disease. As did Shishak within a year of his return. And that the whole area, not just the city, but the surrounding districts as well, were later found empty of people. As if one day all the inhabitants suddenly just decided to leave. But no one came to the pharaoh asking for help against an invading army, so nothing was done. Though Shishak's heir sent scouts to learn the fate of that city. They did not return," Ptahsennes added quietly.

"What do you think happened?" Daniel asked curiously.

"The Four Horsemen came and stole it all away," Ptahsennes answered bitterly, staring into his wine and not noticing how his companions stiffened in surprise.

"Are you certain?" Methos asked gently.

"As certain as anyone can be when it came to those bastards. Death and his henchmen," the Egyptian spat in the sand. "Wherever they are may they rot for eternity."

Methos looked away, swallowing his pain as he brought himself to speak. "I had heard they were in Anatolia at the time," he said thoughtfully. "And they were not the only scourge in those days. More infamous than most, but only one of many. Besides," he added reasonably. "It would take an army to empty an entire district."

"Perhaps," Ptahsennes agreed distantly, his eyes drifting to the little stream that ran through his garden as he remembered his own history. "But long before that they took my wife, you know. And all the children we had adopted."

Methos bowed his head. "No. I didn't," he whispered sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Mmmm," Ptahsennes nodded. "It was in the reign of Tuthmose III."

At that Methos looked up, relief visibly flooding his features. He'd been nowhere near Egypt then, but as so often happened in the past one raiding band of horsemen was much the same as any other. He listened as Ptahsennes told how he had been away on temple business and come home to find the temple looted and burned to the ground, his village destroyed. The men dead, the women and children missing. It sounded like an attack by a rival priesthood to Methos from that description. One thing he and the Horsemen had never done by tacit agreement was to lay waste to holy ground. Not because they feared the consequences, but because they might one day have need of that temple or shrine to protect themselves from others of their kind.

"But how do you know it was them?" Daniel asked quietly, having watched both men react to the story.

"One of the slaves saw them coming and hid. He alone survived."

Methos sighed silently in disgust. He'd heard that one before. Soldiers, slaves, farmers. When faced with overwhelming odds they often hid or ran, forgetting to give the alarm in their panic. When it was all over they would come out and so as not to shame themselves claim it was an attack by the almighty Horsemen. And who could stand against such demons the people would ask and nod their heads knowingly -- ever after kind to the survivors. They had been the bogey men and everyone believed whatever was said when it came to the Four Horsemen -- no matter how preposterous it might have sounded!

Daniel looked at his watch and then at Methos. "We have to get back, Adam. They'll be waiting."

Methos nodded and Ptahsennes sighed sadly. "Go if you must, but stay a moment, old friend. I have something for you and I must find it before you leave."

"We'll be in the house," Methos told him as they rose.

Ptahsennes left them in the great room, surrounded by his records as he went to search.

They were quiet as they waited until Daniel finally spoke up. "He doesn't know," he stated softly.

"Not many do," Methos agreed.

"But if he finds out..."

Methos sighed, picking up an old album and examining the cover. "Then I shall have to hope he never does."

"You didn't kill his family, did you?" Daniel's voice was small with worry.

"No," Methos shook his head, putting the record aside. "We were in Mesopotamia at the time."

"You should tell him," Daniel advised. "Tell him the truth. He likes you. He'll understand."

Methos laughed harshly. "He'd never believe it. Especially coming from me. Death claiming innocence? And how could I prove it?" he smiled sadly. "It would only drive a wedge between us, knowing my real past. He'd feel honor bound to challenge me."

"He does!" came the hoarse awful cry from behind them as something crashed to the floor. Methos turned in surprise to see Ptahsennes standing in the door, sword in hand.

A look of infinite sadness crossed Methos face. "Go start the car, Daniel."

The younger man nodded, hurriedly backing away and a moment later Methos heard the engine turn over.

"I won't fight you, old friend," Methos told him softly. "And you have no cause to challenge me. I did not harm your family."

Ptahsennes moved forward dangerously, pointing his blade as Methos followed Daniel's path to the door.

"You were Death!" the Egyptian hissed.

"I was many things," Methos admitted, edging his way outside. "But none I regret more than that."

"Regret?!" Ptahsennes shouted angrily, following. "Regret is for oath breakers. Not for such as you."

"I can give you nothing else. And the dead need nothing."

"The dead cry out for vengeance!" Ptahsennes roared, suddenly lunging forward.

With his own sword still in the car Methos dodged to the side, reaching behind his back as he moved to pull out his zat gun. He almost avoided another heavy blow, but it caught his shoulder just as he fired.

"Adam!" Daniel cried, leaping over the side of the jeep to kneel beside his friend.

"We have to hurry," Methos gasped, clutching his bloody arm.

Daniel grimaced and grabbed the gun, firing a second time to kill the Immortal. "We have a minute. Can you walk?"

Methos nodded weakly as the younger man helped him to his feet. "I'm impressed," he finally said once they were away and the waves of pain had subsided as his body began to repair itself.

"With what?" Daniel asked, keeping his eyes on the road as he navigated traffic.

"You've become positively blood thirsty. I wasn't even thinking about a second shot. Just getting the hell out."

Daniel shook his head sadly. "More a matter of practicality than a thirst for blood. I didn't want to kill him, even though I know he'll get up again."

"But you did and I'm grateful."

"And I'm sorry," Daniel sighed. "I should have waited until we were in the car."

"Yes, you should have," Methos nodded, carefully checking his shoulder to make sure the skin was knitted up before he ripped the sleeve off his bloody shirt and used it to clean the area.

"Do you think he'll come after you?" Daniel finally asked.

Methos shoved the bloody rag under his seat. "Maybe. Probably. If I run into him again, certainly. But since Ptahsennes never leaves Egypt, I'm not too worried."

"I'm really am sorry," Daniel repeated softly. "He was your friend and I screwed that up."

Methos sighed. "I've lost many friends, Daniel, even old ones. To the Game, to my past. It happens," he shrugged. "Give him a few hundred years and he might eventually get over the shock." Daniel glanced at him, surprised at his calm. "It does happen you know. Time heals all wounds. I mean, look at me. Am I not a mellow fellow?"

Daniel laughed softly. "Very mellow," he agreed. "Which is probably why I just can't seem to picture you as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse sweeping across the plains in a storm of fire."

Now it was Methos' turn to laugh. "Makes a great billboard, but it wasn't that impressive really. We were the ancient equivalent of gang banging hoodlums. That's all. Purse snatchers and thugs. A little more creative than most, but not by much. As for sweeping the plains..." Methos shrugged. "That wasn't us. Four guys on horseback do not sweep anything. We trotted, we cantered -- sometimes we even charged. But we never swept across anywhere. That's what armies are for."

"So what you're saying is that you were just a typical bunch of angry, rebellious kids -- even if you were a couple of thousand years old at the time."

An apt description, Methos thought wryly. "Yes, we were very angry. Me more than the others I suspect."

"Why?" Daniel wanted to know.

"I told you how it was," Methos explained tiredly. "People hated me, so I hated them right back. They tried to kill me, so I killed them instead. If someone didn't want to sell me something because I was different, I took it. I couldn't have a real family, so I sold theirs and didn't look back. It didn't matter that they might not be the ones who hurt me. What mattered was that they had the power to do it again. As I said, I was very, very angry."

"What changed?"

"I did," Methos said, yawning. "You can be angry for just so long before it eats away what's left of your soul. I wanted more. And then I met someone. Someone who knew what I was and instead of killing me out of hand gave me a second chance."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully, looking over at his friend whose eyes were drooping with fatigue. "Here," he said, reaching down to grab a bottle of water. "You lost a lot of blood. I can drive us back. Why don't you get some rest?"

Methos drank then settled back against the seat cushions. With an amused glance Daniel watched as the Immortal drifted off, looking more like the college kid he'd first known than the scourge of the ancient world he'd suddenly discovered. Whoever had given him that second chance, Daniel thought, deserved not only Methos' thanks, but his own. What a tragedy it would have been, if that all that knowledge, not to mention the good and decent man who held it, were lost.

***

"That's fascinating," O'Neill said after Daniel finished recounting their meeting with Ptahsennes, carefully editing out the bit where he'd cost Methos a dear friend. "Really fascinating," Jack yawned. "But how does that help us?"

Carter hid a smile. "It tells us that thousands of years ago someone around here had access to nuclear material, Colonel."

"I must have missed that bit." Methos looked up from his chicken in salsa. Whatever anyone said about Napoleon, he'd been right about one thing. An army traveled on its stomach -- and Methos was extremely happy the Americans had decided to take him up on it. "Are we talking actual fissionable material or a stray bit of uranium?"

"Unknown," Carter admitted with a sigh. "Although I can pretty much rule out the uranium theory. Whatever killed the Goa'uld was powerful enough to do it in a matter of minutes."

"Like Chernobyl," Daniel commented.

Methos raised a questioning brow and the archaeologist shrugged.

"When the accident happened," he explained. "Those closest to it died within minutes. Just like you and your...friends did when you stole the Ark of the Covenant."

"Exactly," Samantha nodded. "Everything around you was contaminated, including your clothes. And everything you came into contact with, like your horses, was then hit by radiation and subsequently died."

It sounded reasonable, but... "You're saying the Judeans somehow got hold of something so radioactive it was enough to poison everybody around it, but not them? Then palmed it off on Shishak?" Methos asked doubtfully.

"It' possible," Carter speculated. "That they had access to a meteoric site and used some of that stone."

"Used it in what?" Jack asked, baffled. "The Ten Commandments?"

"Why not," Daniel responded. "Once the original tablets were brought down from Mt. Sinai and smashed they were placed in a special box and never looked at, never touched. It was forbidden under Mosaic Law."

"I suppose it's possible," Methos gave a half shrug and nodded. "There have always been stories about stones which fell from the heavens. Stones much sought after by kings and priests as a show of power. And with those myths came a warning. We didn't know about radiation, of course, but the stories often claimed that anyone who handled the stones would die."

Jack shook his head, holding up a hand. "Time out, folks. This is great, but you said you stole the Ark, right?" Methos nodded. "You also said it was before Shack Attack got his hands on it, that right too?" Again Methos nodded, though he was smiling now. "So, if the Ark was in Ethiopia, how could Shack bring the Ark here?"

"He could," Daniel said slowly. "If the Ark he was given was a decoy."

"An exact replica of the original," Carter nodded thoughtfully. "With all the same properties."

"But if the Judeans knew what the stone was capable of," Methos insisted. "They would never have kept it in the city. Eventually they all would have died."

"Yes," Carter agreed. "Unless it was shielded properly. Encased in lead or stone -- something to absorb the radiation."

Methos' eyes went wide. "When I was in Jerusalem the Ark was kept in a stone vault, supposedly never seen by anyone but the High Priest. No one but he and the king would have known if it had been sent out of the city. And the Ark was always a target, even in Solomon's time -- a very powerful symbol. Not only for the warring factions within Israel and Judea, but to their enemies. Still, if Solomon sent the Ark south with Bathsheba, as I believe he did, then what was everyone worshipping?"

"The second set of tablets Moses brought down," Daniel theorized.

"Or an empty box," Carter suggested. "Except this one had a small bit of highly radioactive material inside it. If anyone did get their hands on the Ark they would die."

"But not just because they stole it," Methos surmised. "But because they dared to open the box like we did."

"No," Carter said. "There are enough stray atomic particles in both the sand and that ship to say otherwise. Whatever came here was leaking radiation like a sieve. Once the false Ark left its containment unit in Jerusalem whoever came in contact with it would die. Even if they never opened the Ark, it would have killed them within a year."

"Wonderful story," O'Neill finally interrupted. "But what the hell does it have to do with the Goa'uld?"

"They gave them the Ark," Daniel said.

"And why would they do that?"

"Think about it, Jack. The Goa'uld land on your doorstep. They say they're sent by the gods. Ptahsennes said the surrounding districts were emptied of people. And what do the Goa'uld do? They take slaves -- and anything else they can get their greedy hands on."

"Daniel Jackson is correct," Teal'c agreed. "It is what they do. I have many times seen it happen. The ship will land and those nearest the ship will be forced to provide food and other goods the Goa'uld cannot make, while those in nearby areas will be captured and forced through the gate by the Jaffa. When that is done, the guards will bring those in the host village through, or kill them if they fight."

"And imagine," Methos added his own thoughts. "You're an Egyptian priest seeing this happen. Somehow you've come to realize that they are not gods. None of your own magic works against them, but you've got this very powerful box stolen from your enemies. Enemies who've probably told you never to open it on pain of death, which only makes you want to open it more. Maybe you do, maybe you don't. But these beings are asking for everything you own anyway, so you give it to them. And while you're at it, you ask if they'd like to see what's inside. I'd take that shot."

"Or," Daniel countered. "They gave it to the gods as a form of tribute. The Jaffa guarding the ship could have opened it just to see what was inside."

"Either way, it makes sense," Jack nodded. "Okay. So, bible study aside Major, there's no danger to us from that ship?"

"None that I can think of, sir," she responded. "The priests must have taken back the Ark or the Goa'uld managed to somehow get it off the ship, which is probably how everyone else died so rapidly."

"And anyone coming to look would have died as well," Methos nodded.

"So where is it?" Jack asked.

"Buried out here somewhere," Samantha shrugged. "The sand is a good insulator. By now most of the radiation has leached into the ground, but I'd leave it where it is just to be safe. We're in no danger, if that's what you're asking, sir."

"It is," O'Neill grinned. "Okay, kids. Let's pack it up. We're flyin' that baby out tonight."