[Hope Triumphant: Duende 4/4] ~~~~~ After the cruise ship had docked at the port of Civitavecchia, Methos nodded farewell to Cassandra, gave Elena a hug, and kissed Gabriela and Maria several times. They waved goodbye as they boarded a bus back to Milan, and then leaned out the open windows to wave again as the bus pulled away. Methos fell asleep on his bus ride south; Gabriela and Maria had been even more enthusiastic in their goodbyes of last night. When he reached the city of Rome, Methos shouldered his backpack and started to walk. After a week of aimless sauntering on the decks of a ship, it was good to stretch his legs again. Methos avoided the ruins of the Capitol and the Forum, but otherwise wandered with no particular plan. At lunchtime, he stopped in a bar for a crackling roast pork sandwich and a beer. Then he bought a newspaper and sat in the sunshine on a park bench to read. Floods in Bangladesh, killer termites in New Orleans, hem lines going down, cloning of sheep dogs as well as of sheep, a bank failure in London and another in Sao Paulo, peace talks in Israel, a virulent strain of influenza sweeping through Japan--fifteen thousand dead so far. Gasoline was up to six dollars a gallon in the U.S. "We can't even afford summer vacations," consumers complained. The president insisted that conservation was not the answer. "National parks are national resources. Resources are meant to be exploited." California was taxing water, and Ecuadorian flowers were selling very well in Holland. Methos decided to call his broker soon: time to invest in farming supplies. He folded the paper and started to walk again, browsing among the stalls of a craft fair near the Piazza Navona, and watching the multitude of cats who paraded in solitary sereneness along the streets and alleys of Rome. Just before sunset he ordered ice cream at a gelateria then sat near the Fontana della Tartarughe to enjoy the smooth dessert. In the fountain in front of him, four bronze statues of youths stood on the heads of stone dolphins. Each youth helped a stone tortoise climb into the overhead pool. "What now?" Methos murmured when he had finished eating, but he wasn't thinking about more food. The erring and contrite Lorenzo had met Elena at the dock with two dozen red roses in his hand and a ruby necklace in his pocket, so Elena was back with her husband. MacLeod would be busy raising sheep in New Zealand for the next half-century or so, and Joe Dawson and his wife were expecting their second child in about six weeks. They didn't need Methos dragging the Game into their lives. Besides, they'd probably expect him to change diapers if he visited, and Methos was in the mood for some wild-ass, hair-raising escapades, like the kind he and Ramirez had enjoyed with the delectably insatiable Serena nearly sixteen centuries ago. Methos grinned; that woman would have kept even Byron on his toes, in several different ways. But Ramirez had been dead for nearly five hundred years, and Methos hadn't seen Serena since the Sun King had sat on the throne of France. The Watchers' last entry on her had been in 1782. Dead, probably, like so many others through the years--Rebecca, Timon, Aganesthes, Constantine, Haresh, Byron ... And of those who were alive: Amanda was "seeing a man about a camel," Grace was entirely too serious, Kit O'Brady was busy with his casino, and Cassandra (though she did show some surprising potential) was still sleeping with her ghosts. So, who did that leave? Himself. As always. He'd find someone along the way, or maybe they'd find him. But which way to go? Methos rummaged in the pocket of his trousers and found the two ten-cent pieces Cassandra had given him. He tossed one coin high in the air, caught it, and flipped it onto the back of his hand. The less-than-classic profile of King Charles glinted in the sunshine. North, then, perhaps Munich or Berlin. Methos hadn't been there in years, not since the Beatles. Maybe he could find a good rock band to join. Methos tossed the other coin into the water, an offering to the gods. Time to move on. ~~~~~ At sunset, Cassandra climbed the worn steps to the Pantheon then passed through the columned portico, between the great bronze doors and to the circular shrine within. Bright geometric patterns of colored marble lay underfoot; blind windows lined the upper part of the wall. The only light entered from the oculus high above, a round eye designed to be open to the sky, so that rain might enter and smoke might rise. Cassandra walked slowly past the alcoves, following the curve of the wall. The temple was a pantheon no longer; the ancient statues of the deities she remembered had been removed, replaced by figures of modern human kings and queens. Save one, a Madonna and Child, standing over Raphael's tomb. As it should be. Always, the Mother prevailed. Cassandra knelt on the floor before the statue, and the few remaining tourists in the Pantheon shuffled around her in slow silence with questioning stares. For once, she did not care. The mortals might wonder all they wished; they could never understand, and they would never imagine what she saw. She lowered her head to the cool marble, her arms outstretched before her, a more formal obeisance to the Goddess. When the shadows had deepened and the murmurs of visitors had subsided, she rose to her feet and walked to the center of the room, then looked straight up to the deep blue of the sky. Darkness would come soon. Cassandra left the temple, her footsteps swift and sure. Amanda was next on the list. It was time to continue this first step of the plan. =================== This story will be continued in "Hope Triumphant: Full Disclosure." =================== To write to Vi: vmoreau@adelphia.net For more stories by Vi, go to http://users.erols.com/darkpanther/moreau.html To write to Janeen: darkpanther@erols.com For more stories by Janeen, go to http://users.erols.com/darkpanther/