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Methos and Kronos whispered in front of the tent, until Kronos stepped forward and announced that in the morning, they would be raiding the villages to the north.
Caspian and Silas nodded and grinned, anticipating the plunder, the carnage, sweet like heated wine.
Kronos went back to speaking with Methos, and Silas back to his own quarters, while Caspian sat by the fire a little longer, watching. Clearly, it was Methos' idea to go north (everything they did was Methos' idea), but Methos was, as usual, clever enough to act like nobody knew who made the real decisions.
Methos, in Caspian's view, was too clever by half.
Methos didn't rate Caspian's wit very highly, of course; Caspian knew that Methos thought himself better than them, above them, and he disdained Caspian for his coarseness, his willingness to fight in the moment of anger instead of waiting around with patient plans. Of course, Methos liked Silas because he was the right kind of stupid for Methos' tastes: not too witless that he can't carry out tactics, but just witless enough that Methos thought of him as innocent, harmless (not that any of the villages this side of the river would call Silas harmless). But Silas' thoughts surely contained no devious plans, no grand designs beyond fulfillment of greed and lust and blade through flesh.
In this way, Caspian was like Silas: there was no higher purpose than flesh and gold and blood. Caspian knew that Methos had no respect for him, knew that Methos found him too sharp of mind to trust but not nearly clever enough to mean it when he said 'brother.' Methos always had plans -- it wasn't ever enough to burn a village, they had to add theater to it, to spread abject fear, and it wouldn't do to roam around according to the way the wind blew -- how any man with sense would do it -- since Methos' path spread their power, fame, and riches more quickly than such wandering.
That, Caspian thought, was the problem with Methos. He thought that every game, every battle, could be won with a plan. The game of playing with mortals, their little lives like birds underfoot. The game of immortals, the four of them impossible for any lone warrior to challenge (and Caspian is quite sure that despite appearances, that Methos would fare better in the game than Kronos -- Methos would send someone else to kill Kronos, Caspian thinks, since Methos was only happy when a victory is assured.)
Caspian didn't believe that every game could be won with wits. There was strength and there was chance, and a plan could press chance one way or another but never alter it completely. Caspian had his arm and his sword, and he knew that would be enough to live a long, long life. Methos thought him a fool, a brute, but Caspian knew that chance, eventually, would take them all. The game had more power than all of them, together or apart.
Truth be told, Caspian thought Methos a simpleton for believing mere cleverness could change their fates.
Though indeed, Methos was far, far more clever than Caspian would have liked.