The tiny inlet above the small bay was completely isolated, shielded by trees reaching nearly to the water's edge. They beached the ship using the horses and the donkey to drag her into the tree line, carefully camouflaging the hull with palm fronds and sand. Though they had no plans to come back here, ever cautious, they all agreed that sinking her might turn out to be a mistake. Then, once again dressed in their ancient world costumes, they loaded their few possessions onto the donkey and set out.

Methos led the way up through the trees toward the narrow gorge that marked the steep road to the city above.

"This is the Ravine of the Dead, isn't it?" Daniel asked as they reached the wide path that ran beside it.

"The what?!" Jack exclaimed.

"It's just an old Minoan burial ground," Methos explained soothingly, mounting his horse then giving Carter a hand up behind him. Teal'c did the same for Daniel then Methos started them moving, attaching the donkey's lead to his saddle.

"The gorge is chock full of sacred caves, so this is where the locals come to bury their dead."

"Cool," O'Neill muttered, glancing over the edge toward the rocky ground below. "So," he asked. "How far are we going this time? I noticed you didn't pack a lunch."

"About twenty miles inland. We should be there by morning. Kronos has a little palace tucked into one of the hillsides."

"Kronos?" Daniel asked nervously. "The other Horseman?"

"The very same," Methos nodded.

"Which one was he, by the way?" O'Neill queried.

"Kronos was Hell," Methos grimaced. "Always dogging my heels. Did I ever tell you he was Minoan?" he asked, deftly changing the subject. "The son of a king, actually."

"Kronos was a prince!" Samantha's eyes grew wide with surprise.

Methos smiled wryly. "Raised in the belief that he had the right to exert his power over anyone simply because he was Kronos."

"But if he was a foundling...?" she asked.

"His mother was a minor wife to one of the Minos line in Knossos," Methos explained. "With infant mortality rates so high, adoption was a very common practice even in royal households. If she couldn't conceive and found a baby it would have been seen as a gift from the Mother Goddess. The king wouldn't have objected if she raised him. And he'd have been just as pleased because it pleased her. Trust me, when you have multiple wives and concubines keeping all of them happy at once is a logistical nightmare."

"So, what happened?" Daniel asked as the road curved around a large outcropping of rock. "I mean, why did he become Hades?"

"Ah, well, that's his whole story, isn't it?" Methos sighed. "Child of privilege gets a taste for battle. Likes the fear and terror that comes from dominating your enemy. Put him in a suit and give him a seat on the stock exchange and he would have lived for the deal. Instead, like all the boys he went out with the men folk and raided the Karians, the tribes who originally inhabited the Cyclades. They were considered pirates hereabouts. Eventually, he ended up dead on one of those islands. They buried him with all the honors and left him there. When he finally got back -- no doubt expecting the welcome of a man gifted by the Goddess -- they promptly rejected him. As you might imagine, Kronos didn't take it very well."

"Everyone was fair game after that," O'Neill nodded slowly.

"Exactly," Methos agreed. "He was pretty pissed, but he headed for Asia Minor where the Minoans had a few trading colonies. We met a few centuries later at Troy. He'd picked up Silas somewhere along the way, and Caspian showed up later with a contingent of mercenaries. After the Greeks sacked our employers we decided to head out together."

"You fought on the Trojan side?" Daniel asked, a little surprised.

Methos chuckled softly. "They paid better. And besides, the Greeks weren't really that upset about Helen. I mean, she was okay to look at -- sharp as a tack, too, which was her best feature, in my opinion -- but not the kind of woman you'd go to war over. Menalaus was just miffed. Because while Paris was there to tell him Troy was reneging on full payment for several shiploads of wool, and in addition, seizing the ships that carried it for failure to provide a quality item, he also seduced Helen -- then ran off with her and the royal jewels. One or the other the old man could have stood. But both at the same time?" Methos shook his head. "And Troy had been getting over on the Greeks for the longest time. Sometimes they'd pay, sometimes they wouldn't -- depending on whether they thought there'd be any real consequences if they didn't. Usually there weren't. A deal gone sour for one king would have delighted the others, but running off with his wife -- and her dowry -- that was just too much. It could as easily have been them. The Trojans made the ultimate mistake," he commented sagely. "They gave their enemies a chance to think -- and the one good reason they needed to put aside their differences and join forces."

"So what does all this have to do with Kronos?" O'Neill asked exasperated.

"Nothing," Methos shrugged. "Except that after ten years of raiding the Egyptian coast with the rest of the Greek and Trojan hooligans, who had a ship or two and decided to have a little more fun before going home to the wife and kids, he invited the three of us here. That was during the first palace period. I'd been to Crete before, but not in style," he sighed. "Kronos never went back to Knossos, but when we got here he commissioned a house to be built. Thirty rooms on a hillside in Phaistos -- Knossos' long time rival and most hated enemy," he added with a grin. "Very grand and ornate. We hung for a while, then hit the road as the Horsemen. About a century later, after the first big quake, the Myceneans showed up, but Kronos eventually came back and rebuilt. When the volcano in Akritiri blew we were on the mainland in Greece. There wasn't much left after that, but Kronos was adamant about keeping a house here. Said not even the gods could drive him out of his home. But he did take my advice and moved his little project to a more secure location before the Dorians invaded as we all knew they would. It's up there," Methos pointed to the low foot hills of the mountains just beyond the city. "The only true Minoan palace left on the entire island."

"Fantastic," Daniel murmured, staring off into the distance.

"And you're sure he isn't going to show up anytime soon?" O'Neill asked worriedly.

"Not a chance," Methos told him smugly. "We just left -- relatively speaking. The Horsemen won't be coming back this way for at least another century."

He didn't bother to mention what the Horsemen would be doing in all that time. Not that it mattered anyway, Methos imagined. He'd thought himself very clever in those days. For centuries they'd simply been known as The Horsemen. In the next hundred years, by listening for news of trouble in various regions he'd lead them into hot spots and earn them the appellation 'Harbingers of the Apocalypse'. How many wars they'd directly or indirectly caused Methos didn't know, but he guessed the number was pretty high. By causing turmoil in already politically unstable areas, whether their actions were attributed to the enemy or considered an omen that war was inevitable, they'd invariably softened up the countryside for whatever army eventually swept through. Armies they themselves would later join as mercenaries and thereby share in the looting of the cities as well.

Of course, he'd never dreamed they were the actual cause of all those wars. Mortals battled each other regardless, same as Immortals. But in hindsight, he could see that many of those conflicts might have been averted by whatever negotiations were taking place, or smaller localized military actions. If not for their presence and the heightened fear and anger it caused among the participants, the greater conquests of entire nations might never have occurred. But such was life and the arrogance of youth, Methos thought regretfully.

They rode in silence after that. Well rested from their sea journey, the horses kept up a good pace, stepping sure footed around rocks and other obstacles that might impede their movement. By dawn they had long since passed the old ruins of Zakoros palace, which like all the other Minoan strongholds on the island would eventually disappear into history. Unlike their predecessors, the Myceneans, the Dorians had no use for great cities. Not yet, anyway. Their descendants would one day build up Athens, Corinth and the other great centers of culture on the mainland. But here, most of that was now forever lost.

As the sun touched the high peaks further inland, Methos led the little group into a narrow ravine alongside a sheer cliff. It wound downward, curving as they neared the bottom. Turning sharply, Methos seemed to disappear into the cliff face and the others followed, passing briefly through a cramped tunnel into a tiny clearing. Cut into the stone on this side of the cliff were a series of steps winding upward until they reached a spur on the side of the mountain facing the sea. Set back against the cliff wall stood a three story mansion wrapped in colonnaded porticos and verandahs.

"Wow," Samantha breathed.

"Think you used enough red?" O'Neill asked, staring at the brightly painted edifice.

"It's what they used," Daniel pointed out. "A good non-reflective shade that helps keep the house cool."

"Actually, we just liked the color," Methos told them blandly.

"Whatever," Jack muttered. "So, where is everybody? No caretaker?"

Methos shook his head as he led them along the cobble stone path past landscaped trees and gardens filled with late summer blooms. "Kronos would buy slaves whenever we got here, then sell them on the mainland, Egypt or Greece, whenever we left. No one knows about this place and the angle's all wrong for anyone looking up to see the house. The further out you get, it just blends into the mountain."

"How did you find it?" Samantha asked as he took them around the side of the house to the stables.

"I followed a goat," Methos grinned. "They're wild around here. Of course, we cut the steps to make it easy to transport all the materials. The goats were just fine without them."

They took some time to get the animals settled then Methos led them back around to the main entrance.

"Most of the place stayed unused even when we were here," he told them, opening the front door to reveal a long colonnaded courtyard just past the entry hall. "I think Kronos used to dream he could restore the throne of Minos with himself as Great King."

"Sweet," O'Neill grimaced as they followed Methos to the far end of the courtyard where two sets of stairs brightened by light wells above led to the upper floors.

"My apartments were this way," he explained, going to the right. "Kronos' quarters were above mine on the top floor, but the others lived there," he pointed left. "I'd stay away from their living areas, if I were you. There's no telling what might have been left behind."

"Like what?" Daniel asked, avidly taking in the frescos that decorated the walls of the second floor.

Methos frowned distractedly. "Caspian was a serial killer, Daniel. He never manifested that with us, though I could be wrong. At least, I never saw any sign of methodical stalking of victims. But he was a death fetishist. Liked to decorate his tent inside and out with the skulls and bones of those he killed in battle. I never saw the inside of his rooms here, but I can't imagine that his taste in objets de art suddenly improved because he had four solid walls and a hearth." The others looked appalled, but Methos doggedly went on.

"As for Kronos," he shrugged. "His pleasures were a little more sedentary, though he often left a mess when he was done. Liked to send in the new slaves to clean it up whenever we arrived just to scare them into docility. And Silas," Methos sighed sadly. "There are some nice wall paintings of mythical animals in there, but nothing else of much interest. Off the battlefield, he was fairly docile."

"What about you?" O'Neill asked quietly.

Methos raised an eyebrow as he paused before a door. "See for yourself," he said, flinging it open.

A long central corridor overlooked an open air peristyle set with statuary and a fountain to one side. "This is the men's hall," Methos explained, leading them through the first of several rooms.

"Pink marble?" O'Neill asked, staring at the floor and walls.

"Rose," Methos condescend stiffly. "And it's gypsum."

"Right," O'Neill patted his shoulder as he stepped inside. "You just keep tellin' yourself that."

"Well, I like it," Samantha smiled.

Three sides of the room were wrapped in stone benches and at the far end a large high backed chair carved from a solid block of granite stood on a raised platform. A pair of limestone pedestal lamps sat on either side while behind, shields, swords and a pair of battle axes decorated the wall.

"Nice throne," O'Neill remarked, taking in the contents of the room.

"Isn't that your desk chair?" Daniel asked, voice tinged with startled recognition.

"Yes to both," Methos murmured. "I told you we had delusions of grandeur."

"Had?" O'Neill smirked as he went over and sat down, casually hooking a leg over one chair arm as he lounged. "Comfy."

"Incredibly," Methos agreed, hiding a smile. "Now, if you'll just follow me, I'll show you to the real seat of power -- the water closet."

"Yes!" Jack shouted gleefully, leaping to his feet. "Indoor plumbing!"

***

"Nifty setup," O'Neill sighed as he settled back into the plush softness of a dining couch. Feather pillows and carpets abounded in bright colorful shades, giving the dining hall a decadent, sybaritic atmosphere.

"It suited me at the time," Methos murmured, sipping wine from a thin alabaster goblet. They'd prepared a proper meal, bringing it back to his apartments, then eaten well of the dried meats and other foodstuffs carefully stored in large stone pithoi within the villa's magazines.

"And now you have to do your own laundry and wash your own floors," Carter grinned, recalling Methos' complaints as they'd searched for where the linens and bedding had been kept as the others cleaned and aired out the rooms.

"Adam Pierson does his own housework," Methos condescended. "I get someone in."

"But you are Adam Pierson," Teal'c pointed out.

"He's right," Daniel grinned. "Even if you are just playing a part. I've seen those hands picking lint off the carpet, remember?"

"Fraud," O'Neill teased.

"Oh, all right," Methos frowned. "Bunch of party poopers. I think next time I'll be Matt Adams. Now he was a real slob. Never did housework."

"Matt Adams?" Samantha asked curiously.

"My last incarnation. Long haired hippie rock star wannabe roadie. Smoked a lot of dope, did a lot of groupies and toured with the Stones, among others."

"You mentioned that," Daniel nodded. "Why'd you stop?"

Methos sighed heavily and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "It was great until Altamont. Then Mick hired those thugs to work security -- the Hell's Angels. Guess who showed up in the entourage?"

"Kronos," Samantha guessed.

"Yup," Methos nodded and sat up, looking mournful. "Three hours later I was on the first plane to New York looking like a poster child for the Young Republicans."

"My heart bleeds for you, Pierson." O'Neill smirked. "Now, campers," he clapped his hands. "Back to business. We've only got six months to get ready for Egypt and I want us prepared. Report."

Carter nodded, raising up on her elbows. "I've been working on some ideas for a containment unit if we can locate the Ark Shishak received before it's opened. We'll also need some form of protective gear. I can work with Methos on what's available locally. Anything we might be able to use to manufacture what we need. Then there's the extra power we'll have to have to charge the gate to get us home. Teal'c and I can figure something out there. Maybe tie in to the ship's main engine."

"Good," O'Neill nodded. "Pierson?"

"We need to synthesize some form of medication to treat radiation sickness," Methos responded. "I noticed a couple of items in the med kit designed for that, but we'll need more. And dyes, we'll need those too. Our skin and hair have to be darkened sufficiently to pass for native to the casual eye." Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "Not you, my friend, but the rest of us need to blend in. We're safe enough here," he added. "Crete's always had a good mix of different races, though I'd prefer it if Carter and Daniel colored their hair before going into town."

"And moi?" O'Neill asked, feigning hurt.

Methos shrugged. "Sorry, Dad, you're too old to get hit on by anyone sober enough to notice the blonde in all that gray."

A large pillow slammed him hard and Methos fell back laughing.

"Daniel?" O'Neill sharply asked the young archaeologist, who was grinning from ear to ear. "You have anything to report? And remember," he threatened. "I have lots more pillows where that came from."

"Yeah," Daniel chuckled. "I do. Actually," he qualified. "It's more of a request really. I'd like to find out as much as I can about the present state of Egyptian affairs. Secular and religious politics, possible military actions we don't know about."

"And this is because?"

"I probably know as much about Ancient Egypt as any modern scholar can," Daniel explained. "But I can't know everything that went on. There are things in the historical record that are missing or wildly inaccurate depending on whose viewpoint you read."

"Can't Pierson help?" O'Neill looked at the Immortal who was frowning.

"Not really," Methos responded. "After our nasty experience with the other Ark in Ethiopia we came here for a bit. In this time, we'd only just left for Asia Minor a couple of years ago. I didn't even hear about Shishak's visit to Jerusalem until long after. And Egypt is different in every reign. The bureaucracy stays the same, but the treatment of foreigners and how much graft is acceptable, that changes with each pharaoh's administration. Which priesthood is plotting and who's likely to be the target are also important things we need to be aware of. Daniel's right. We can't walk in there blind."

"So we study the area and not just the lay of the land, got it," O'Neill nodded. "Teal'c?"

"I must create a model of the Goa'uld ship we found," he told them quietly.

"Great," O'Neill sighed. "More visits to the talking trees."

The Jaffa merely narrowed his eyes and went on. "You must all learn every detail of the ship. Stealth and quickness are required if we are to succeed."

O'Neill nodded. "So, campers, the plan is, we grab the Ark, bury it somewhere safe, then just sneak aboard and use the gate?"

"Doesn't seem like we have much of a choice," Methos responded. "By the time we get there those living nearest the Ark will already be dying."

"What about all those other villages, Adam?" Daniel asked softly. "All the people taken from the area who just disappeared."

"We can't change that much history," Methos insisted.

"He's right," Carter added. "If we try to stop it there's no telling what repercussions might occur down the line."

"But history's already changed," Daniel pointed out. "Gyganes and his crew are dead because of us."

Methos shook his head slowly. "They'd already lived their lives, Danny. Had families and children. Their deaths came too soon, but not before their time."

"I hate to say it," Samantha nodded. "But I have to agree. Any changes to the timeline caused by their deaths would be negligible."

"What if they're not?"

"Then we've already failed and all this is pointless," Methos stated flatly. "We will live here until you all die then I will find the gate, make sure it ends up in some bottomless pit under the sea and stop anyone from ever going through it."

"What?!" O'Neill asked, startled.

Methos' expression went stony. "If Daniel never translates those tablets, you'll never open the Stargate and Ra won't die. The Goa'uld will have no reason to come back to Earth while she's weak. Once that's done, I'll find the other Methos and let him take my head. Because this time," he grinned ruefully, "there really should be only one."

"So, I'll go to work for NASA," Carter said quietly. "Daniel will live in obscurity teaching at some second rate community college, Teal'c will remain as Apophis' First Prime and..." she paused, glancing at O'Neill who sat staring at nothing.

"And I'll put a gun in my mouth and blow the back of my head off," Jack said calmly. "Which is what I was planning to do the day I got called back to duty."

"You're right, Adam." Daniel swallowed hard and looked away. "We can't change history."

Methos said nothing. It had been a cruel example, but he'd done what was needed.

O'Neill suddenly yawned and stood up. "Okay, kids, shut eye time. Big bedroom's mine."

Methos started to argue then closed his mouth. Fair enough pay back, he thought, for forcing that confession out of Jack and they both knew it. On the other hand, giving in gracefully wasn't in his nature.

"Mind if I get some things first?" he asked sourly as the others went to find the rooms they'd chosen.

"No problem," Jack told him magnanimously as he led the way down the hall to Methos' bedroom, laying down with a heartfelt sigh on the oversized bed. "Take your time."

"You're a real pal," Methos grimaced, opening the chest that stood at the foot of his bed and gathering up his favorite bed robe, the one he'd been missing for nearly three thousand years. This was going home in his pack if it was the last thing he did. Of course, that also meant he'd stolen it from himself in the first place and he probably shouldn't have accused Caspian of taking it out of spitefulness. Ah well, he shrugged silently. Live and learn.

"So, where are you going to sleep?" O'Neill asked, smiling.

"The wife's room down the hall," Methos jerked his head in that direction. "Bed's twice the size of this one. And," he added smugly. "She had a private bath."

O'Neill leaned back thoughtfully, shoving his hands under the pillows to prop up his head. "What's this?" he asked as his hand thumped something hard.

Methos raised an eyebrow, the glimmer of an idea taking hold. "Bed box," he explained casually. "Kept a few odds and ends in there."

"Yeah?" O'Neill asked, sitting up and examining the item. "Mind if I look?"

"Not at all," Methos told him lightly, grabbing his favorite slippers as he prepared to leave. "Just don't use the ointment in the green jar. Tends to burn if you're not used to it." O'Neill's eyes went wide. "I wouldn't play with the Medusa Head Vulva of Happiness, either."

"The what?!"

"It's got a broken hasp and the spiked teeth tend to tear the skin more than usual."

O'Neill dropped the box and jumped off the bed. "The wife's room's got a private bath?" he asked, looking desperate for any excuse to leave. Methos nodded innocently. "Colonels are entitled to that. And the biggest bed. We have to have that. It's a rule," O'Neill added hastily as he fled.

"All the way down the hall, second corridor to your right," Methos called to O'Neill's back. "It's the first room on the left!"

Methos closed the door and threw himself on the bed laughing then picked up the box and laid it on his chest. He opened the lid and searched through its contents, smiling as he found the item he wanted then put the box back in its place behind his head. "Poisons and Potions for Healing," he murmured as he punched up the pillow, partially unrolled the scroll and sat back to read.

No doubt O'Neill would be back crying foul as soon as he discovered he'd been had. Then again, maybe not. Zekna's rooms certainly were nicer than his, even if they hadn't been aired out in nearly a century. He just hoped Jack heeded his words about the green jar in her bed box. Otherwise, O'Neill would be sitting in a cold tub screaming for a week -- and not just the half hour's worth of sensual agony he'd experienced. And of course, he smirked wickedly, no beautiful Zekna afterwards to soothe away the pain and replace it with voluptuous pleasure. The same pleasures for which he'd married the delightful witch.

Chapter 30