The Enemy

“New slave?”

Xena opened her right eye a little and saw two enormously fat men – obviously eunuchs – approaching her with interest.

“That’s right.” The vicious guard who had ‘accompanied’ her to the Women’s quarters threw in a kick for good measure. “He’s buying up every last slave on the market – can’t get enough of these women!”

The three men guffawed amongst themselves. Xena moved her head slightly, and relaxed. She was lying in a large room, with walls decorated by elaborate hangings and floors covered with rich carpets and silk cushions. A huddle of women stood as far from the door as possible. What reassured her was that Gabrielle was amongst them.

The men muttered a little more, moving closer to the door, finally slipping out to the corridor. Gabrielle ran to her friend.

“Xena – you’re all right? You –“

“I’m fine,” Xena hissed, with one eye to the door. “But Gabrielle – getting yourself bought as a slave wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had!”

Gabrielle’s face stilled suddenly. “Sarah’s here, Xena. Somewhere. I know it, I can feel it – and I’m going to get her back.”

“No,” Xena replied with steel in her voice, and laid a hand over Gabrielle’s mouth. “We’re going to get your niece back.”

Gabrielle’s face crumpled, then, and she hung her head, and took in a deep breath. Xena’s stomach tightened. “They haven’t –“

“No – I’ve been left alone,” Gabrielle reassured her. “But every few days a servant appears and selects two of the women. They never return –“

A fierce anger rushed through Xena’s body. “Then we’re not just here for Sarah.”

And Gabrielle shook her head decisively.

“No. We’re here to kill Gurkhan.”

“Should we go after them?” Virgil asked urgently, looking out at the island with the enormous palace at its centre. “I know Xena said not to, but –“

“If you go after her, she’ll just have to rescue you along with Gabrielle,” Eve told him distractedly, swinging herself up onto the ship’s riggings.

“What are you –“

“I need to see something,” she told him, and then climbed swiftly up the ropes, pulling herself into the swaying crow’s nest. She held a hand to her eyes, spying out the island.

Virgil looked up at her anxiously. She had been acting strangely ever since Gabrielle had discovered her niece lay captive within Gurkhan’s palace. He guessed it had something to do with her past, something he tried to think of as little as possible. He watched as the mast swayed, and then his eyes widened with horror.

“Get down!” he screamed, gesturing to the girl. She turned at his voice, and he watched desperately as her face changed, stricken. She crouched low in the crow’s nest as an enormous wave hit the side of the boat.

The whole ship rocked, and Virgil found himself sliding helplessly to the side. He clung tightly to the edge, and managed to hold fast as the boat shuddered and groaned with the impact. Then he looked up.

Eve was clinging to the still swaying mast by a single hand. Her head was flung back, but he could see she was refusing to give up, nor even to utter a cry. He moved over to the mast and pulled himself up to the rigging, which was still shaking.

“Don’t be a fool!” she screamed at him.

Ignoring her he climbed, wrapping his legs about the ropes, stretching out a hand to her own. She hesitated, then grabbed hold, moments before the board her fingers had been clutching snapped.

They both cried out, then – the weight of Eve on Virgil’s arm hurt unbearably, while Eve saw the world flash past in an instant. Then she let go, feeling the movement of the boat, and leapt for the ropes.

They hung there awhile, simply breathing. Then they helped each other down, and lay on the firm boards of the boat.

“We’re leaving the ship,” Eve said.

Virgil simply nodded. Then he passed out.

“You didn’t see Gurkhan?” Gabrielle asked Xena.

“No. His minions bargained for me. In the markets it is rumoured no one ever sees him.”

“Excepting those poor women,” Gabrielle breathed.

“And I,” Xena muttered. “I will see him and live.”

A whip came down hard against her back, and she turned, her eyes flashing. Gabrielle hissed a warning, and she remembered, then, and dropped to the floor.

“Quiet, slave!” the eunuch cried. “We have no whispering here, no idle chatter, no secret talk.”

Xena understood suddenly why Gabrielle was having difficulty in the harem.

“She was simply asking for a story, my Lord,” Gabrielle said hastily, bowing with her forehead pressed to the carpet.

The eunuch kicked her then.

“Liar! What story is this, then?”

Gabrielle began to speak automatically. “There was a princess who lived long ago, in a land far away . . .”

As Gabrielle spoke, Xena saw the eunuch’s expression change; and something like hope dawn of some of the women’s faces. They began to gather closer, mesmerized by the sound of Gabrielle’s voice, by the rhythm of the story.

She pulled herself up slowly, watching the eunuchs seat themselves ponderously, stilling the anger in her heart at the cut on her face. She let her eyes wander over the faces of the women in the room. All of them missed desperately no doubt by families who had either given them up for lost, or were imagining terrible thing for them . . . Xena was not sure which was worst. She had woken Gabrielle from enough nightmares ever since they had discovered that Lila’s daughter had been taken by slave-traders. Xena shuddered a little. If she hadn’t been near Potedia that day herself, perhaps Gabrielle would have ended up in such a palace . . .

No – Xena shook her head. A girl with Gabrielle’s spirit would have been killed long before she reached the shores of Gurkhan’s island.

Under the cover of Gabrielle’s story-telling, she edged over to a dark-haired woman, staring into the air, her eyes dark with sadness.

“Thinking of anyone in particular?” she murmured.

“My betrothed,” the woman answered dully.

“Keep thinking of him,” Xena told her fiercely. “Hold onto his face, hold onto his voice, hold onto every memory you have of him until you are free again. Because then you will be free.”

The woman looked at her, startled, then allowed a small smile to cross her face. She turned, and began listening to Gabrielle’s story.

Xena watched her. Strange, that now all she could think of was a man with bruised lips, and fingers she herself had broken.

Virgil woke with a start, and looked around. Eve was sitting quietly beside him, in the small cabin below deck.

“My arm hardly hurts,” he muttered, surprised.

“Good,” Eve said, pleased. “It was dislocated – I put it back in for you.”

“Oh – thanks,” Virgil replied, sitting up. He was occasionally overawed at Eve’s many skills. “We’re leaving the boat?”

“Yes,” she looked away a moment, and then turned back to Virgil. “This wasn’t the first I’d heard of Gurkhan’s isle.”

“No,” Virgil replied. “No, I’d gathered that.”

“I took slaves here – I took Amazon women here –“ She hesitated. “I sold them as slaves.”

“To Gurkhan,” Virgil guessed, but Eve shook her head. “He wouldn’t take them. They would stir up too much trouble, all together – no, I sold them one by one to the wealthy houses of this place.”

“So that is what we are to do,” Virgil nodded slowly. “Free slaves.”

“We will take the Amazons home,” Eve told him, lifting her chin. She moved over to the side, but Virgil stayed by her, even till the moon had risen.

A loud clanging alerted the women, and they fell with their faces to the floor.

Xena could only spy a pair of well-clad feet, but they paused in front of her. Then the two eunuchs pulled her by the arms and led her out into the hallway.

“This is the woman?”

There was a third man, whose voice seemed obscured somehow. She wondered suddenly whether it was Gurkhan, and lifted her head a moment. The eunuch’s hand flashed a stinging slap across her cheek.

“Enough!” And a firm hand stayed the eunuch’s next stroke. “Here – you are dismissed, the pair of you. Find something to do for the next hour – I will take the woman to Gurkhan from here.”

“But – our posts – “

“Go!”

The eunuchs scuttled away, and Xena’s heart leapt. Here was Gabrielle’s chance to talk with the women alone at last! She stayed where she was, crouched on the floor, until she was pulled up unceremoniously by the unknown man.

“Rise – I am just a servant like yourself,” he told her.

“I am a slave,” she replied, standing in the presence of a man for the first time since she had arrived. “I am Xena,” she corrected herself.

“And I am Asher,” the man replied, stretching out his hand to her courteously. She pressed her own firmly against it, and eyed him curiously.

“Why are you so covered?” she asked, indicating the wraps that surrounded his face.

“I was beaten, badly, by Lord Gurkhan, and now I am not – comely to look upon,” he replied wryly, leading her along the narrow hallway. “He prefers my face, or rather lack of it, remain unseen.”

“Really?” Xena asked, raising an eyebrow. “In that case I would never cover it.”

A surprised chuckle escaped the man’s lips, and Xena jumped.

“As you have most likely discovered, we cannot always do as we choose. Or have what we want.”

They arrived at a panelled door, and paused.

“I must blindfold you,” Asher told her apologetically. “It is Lord Gurkhan’s orders. Few know the secret of the labyrinth that protects Lord Gurkhan’s private chambers.”

A labyrinth! Xena’s heart sank, and she submitted to the blindfolding dully. She attempted to count the number of steps, but lost all sense of direction along the winding journey. Finally they paused once more.

“We have arrived,” Asher murmured urgently. “When I open the door, fall to the floor, and do not arise unless he so requests. You are vulnerable, Xena – do not try him.”

Xena nodded sharply. She had no intention of attacking the man until she found out what she needed from him.

There was a rush of air, and immediately Xena fell to the floor, pressing her forehead against rich carpets. She considered using the pinch to gain the knowledge she needed, but abandoned the idea. Even if he did reveal Sarah’s whereabouts accurately – and it was unlikely he would know her true name – it would be impossible for her to get back to the Women’s quarters in time to rescue the girls. No, she needed to be familiar with the layout of the palace before she planned their escape, and so, with a slight shudder, she waited still for Gurkhan’s approach.

“Entertain me.”

Xena nearly lifted her head, nearly exclaimed. She had expected the dry wretched croak of some shrivelled ancient, or the lazy oily tones of an overfed middle-aged letch. Not the strong ringing accents of a young man – a voice that lacked arrogance, that held nobility.

Was she to dance, was she to sing, was she to –

“There was once a princess from a land far away–“ she uttered urgently, and was rewarded with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Sit up.”

Xena sat up, breathed again. “There was once a princess from a land far away, in a time long ago,” she began again, closing her eyes behind their bandages, recalling Gabrielle amongst the women, recalling her low voice, the way she drew listeners through her well-timed pauses, through her inviting gestures. The warmth in her voice.

“She was under a dreadful enchantment,” Xena went on, recalling, remembering. “She was to sleep until woken by a man with a true heart.”

“Dreadful indeed,” the man agreed solemnly.

“With such a sleep came dreams,” Xena told him. “Although she was imprisoned by sleep in a high tower, she travelled the whole world in her dreams. She saw the rich and the poor, she saw the free and the oppressed. She saw the beauty of nature and the horror of war. But nowhere, amongst all the people she saw, amongst all the loveliness and all the ugliness, did she see her rescuer.”

“But still she escaped?”

Xena nodded, once, and allowed herself a smile.

“Tossing and turning, the princess lay in desperation, in the midst of nightmares. Then came a vision. It was unlike any of her other dreams.”

“And she saw?”

“In the dream she was walking along a hallway, lined with great portraits. But unlike most paintings she had spied, these did not possess eyes which followed one. In fact, the eyes seemed to turn away. Still she walked on, until she came to a frame right at the end of the hallway. There she saw eyes that looked directly at her; and there she saw her rescuer.”

“A mirror,” the man’s voice observed.

“Yes.” Xena replied, a little surprised.

“And so?”

“And so she woke. And so she left the tower, and freed herself.”

She heard the man’s footsteps. They approached, then retreated. Finally she heard his voice just beside her right ear, and jumped.

“Who sent the vision?”

“Wh – what?” Xena asked, startled. But the man pushed her to the floor again, and then she heard the opening of a door behind her.

“Take her.”

She was led out carefully, led through the labyrinth, and unbandaged outside her the Women’s quarters by a strange servant.

“Get back in there,” he muttered, pushing her inside the door, so she stumbled and landed flat on her face in the midst of the women. Gabrielle ran up to her, near tears.

“Oh, Xena! Oh, oh no –“

Xena pulled herself up and rubbed her nose.

“It’s all right, Gabrielle,” she told her friend warmly. “Sometimes your words save you; sometimes your words save me.”

Virgil’s jaw dropped.

Eve had disappeared into the lower hold, warning him off while he paced impatiently on deck. He had his sword, she knew the island; what else did they need, he grumbled to himself. Then he turned.

She was clothed in the red and silver of a warrior; with the cloak of a Roman. Her hair was held back tightly, and her eyes painted. She wore a sword at her hip.

Suddenly the memory of the day his father died choked him, and he stepped back.

“No – Virgil, no, I’m sorry!”

It was the break in Eve’s voice that held him. He turned back to her and saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

“I – I need to be Livia, no , I –“ she corrected herself, stumbling. “They know me as Livia. I can use that to find out what I need – you understand that, oh do you?”

Virgil nodded slowly. “Yes. But I don’t have to like it.”

Eve smiled sadly. “Nor I.”

Gabrielle looked cautiously at the eunuchs who had returned.

“I was able to talk to some of the women while they were gone. Do you think –“

“Yes,” Xena replied hastily. “He’ll call for me again. But these women must think that I –“

The shorter eunuch gestured threateningly, and Xena bowed her head. Gabrielle stood up and spoke hastily.

“She was requesting another story, my Lord,” she explained. “May I –“

The eunuchs conferred quickly, whilst the women gathered. The utter boredom of enclosed life meant that a story – one that could be discussed, remembered, tasted like a new life – was as eagerly sought after as news from outside. And even the eunuchs knew boredom.

“Go on,” the shorter eunuch uttered regally, secretly pleased at being termed a lord.

Gabrielle looked over at Xena and nodded.

“There was once a young girl who lived in a far-off land, long ago. She was chosen to marry the King, but she was not at all happy about this fate, because that particular king grew very bored very quickly. In fact, it was his habit to execute his bride the morning after their wedding night.”

The eunuchs chuckled.

“This young woman racked her brains as to how to please a king. At last an idea came to her.” She glanced up at Xena again. “Many women had tried to please him with their bodies; but only this woman used her mind. She told him stories . . .”

Xena looked at the stone walls imprisoning her. As she recalled, Scheherezade had had to entertain her lord for a thousand and one nights before she was granted life. She hoped devoutly Sarah would be discovered long before then.

“Ahh, Livia.”

Livia strode into the room, her hand on her sword, a bold wicked smile playing over her lips. She tossed back her head, then held out her hand to the elderly man who had risen at her entrance.

“You remember, then?” she asked proudly.

“Who could forget?” the man replied honestly. “You made me a very rich man.”

Virgil followed Livia into the small room a little more slowly. It was filled with scrolls, scraps of parchment, inkwells and quills. The stone walls hung with cobwebs, and a thick layer of dust lay over most of the furniture.

“Yes, I made you, didn’t I?” Livia went on sweetly. “You took those Amazon girls off my hands and sold them to the wealthy families of this island.”

“And you kindly granted me a percentage,” the man nodded, rubbing avaricious hands together. “Do you have more slaves to sell?” He asked, looking over at Virgil.

“No – this one, I would never sell,” Livia said quickly.

The man smiled. “I can see why. He must –“

Livia stepped forward. “But enough of pleasantries. My purpose here is dry, dull, but very important to me. I need the records of sale.”

The man nodded. “As you can see, I keep all records safely by me. Let me look . . .” He moved aside a few parchments, creating a cloud of dust which sent Virgil into a coughing fit. Livia threw him a sharp look.

“Ah – here it is.” He placed the rolled up scroll in her hand. “And in recompense?”

Livia dumped a heavy bag of coins onto the table. It shuddered under the weight.

“Will this hold your tongue, or must I take it along with me?”

The man gulped a little. “Oh, no – I can hold it well, enough.”

Livia ran a finger along the edge of her blade, then inclined her head.

“Very well. But remember – I can always change my mind . . .”

Gabrielle watched anxiously as Xena was led out once again. It was the third day she had been taken, each time to tell a story, each time to learn a little more about the labyrinth that surrounded Gurkhan. Xena knew his voice, now, she had reassured Gabrielle; and soon she would know the man.

As soon as the repulsive eunuchs had left the room, Gabrielle ushered the women to her. They were a motley crowd; Greeks and Egyptians, Phoenicians and Africans, women from Sicilia and women from Gaul.

“Your Xena is the only woman who has been able to leave this room and return alive,” Amarila, a woman from Hispania uttered suspiciously.

Xena was the only woman who had been able to leave this life and return again, Gabrielle thought to herself. “You don’t know Xena,” she said simply. “She isn’t easily killed.”

“Nor easily enslaved, I’d wager,” another woman, Tabori, murmured.

Gabrielle shrugged. “You’re right. Both Xena and I are here by our own free will.”

She remained impassive at the women’s exclamation. Her days speaking with them had persuaded her they could be trusted. After all, they had nothing more to lose, and nothing to gain, either.

“We’re on a rescue mission,” she went on. “My niece, a girl called Sarah, was taken by slavers five years ago.” She paused. “My parents and her father went after her, took money to buy her back.”

“What happened?” the youngest girl, Ramona, asked. She drew her silvery veil about her.

“Gurkhan killed them, of course,” Amarila replied quickly, and then turned her face to the wall.

“Yes, you’re right. He killed them. But he won’t kill Xena, nor I. We’ve come to find Sarah, and once we have found her –“

“You’ll what? Leave us here, to die one by one?” Tabori asked furiously. “Is that –“

“No, you don’t understand,” Gabrielle told her gently. “Once we have found Sarah, we will destroy Gurkhan. But we cannot do that until Sarah’s identity is made known.” And she shivered, wondering what Xena was suffering while she carried out her painstaking investigations.

“She could be dead, Gabrielle,” Ramona whispered, wringing tiny hands together.

“She’s probably dead,” Amarila corrected.

“Then we will bring her body home to her mother,” Gabrielle said steadfastly.

The women were quiet, then. Finally Ramona looked up.

“I believe you, Gabrielle,” she said simply. “I believe you’ve come here to rescue us; and I believe that you’ll do it.”

And for the first time Gabrielle saw a smile break over the face of the little girl.

Virgil and Eve hurried back to the ship, then unrolled the parchment.

“It’s all here!” Eve exclaimed, running her finger down the line of names. “Each Amazon, each house they were sold to; their price –“

“Rani, Amazon; to the house of Jerusha; a hundred dinars,” Virgil read slowly. “Temara, Amazon; to the house of Oranu; a hundred and fifty dinars.”

Eve drew her cloak about her, and shivered. She turned away and looked out at the sea, at the darkening sky.

“Viviana, Amazon; to the house of Miklas; a hundred dinars.”

She had never known their names. She had transported them across land and sea, had beaten and starved them; but she had never known their names.

“Terei, Amazon; to the house of Yusef; a hundred and twenty dinars.”

A vision came to her, a memory. One young girl out of many. She had lifted her face up and begged for mercy.

“Atina, Amazon; to the house of Gnossa; a hundred dinars.”

Virgil read each name out slowly, as a man calls out the names of the dead. Then he went below deck; but Eve stayed until the sun went down, and it was very dark.

“I’m to wear – oh, no, Eve!” Virgil protested, holding up the clothing gingerly.

“I can’t pretend with these families, they are too closely linked with Rome.” Eve told him firmly. “You need to be the slave-trader, this time. And I’ll be your servant.”

Virgil looked again at the tunic and sandals, and then over at Eve.

“What are you wearing, then?”

“Go get dressed, hurry,” she said, avoiding his question. She had a feeling his jaw would drop even further once he saw her dressed as a slave-girl.

Eve was right. She actually found herself blushing for the first time since she had been a child at the expression on Virgil’s face.

“I hope you can protect yourself,” he said doubtfully. “Otherwise I’ll end up with less slaves rather than more today.”

She patted him on the back. “You know I can. And –“ She hesitated.

“What is it, Eve?” he asked softly.

She paused, realising that Virgil was the first gentle man she had ever known.

“Even if we don’t discover the Amazons today . . .”

“. . . it will have honoured them that you’d tried,” Virgil finished for her. He nodded. “I know. Come, let’s go find them.”

They made their way to the area of the Three Hills, where most of the wealthier families had their homes. The rich, Eve whispered to Virgil, were the most fearful people on earth; and they weren’t satisfied unless they were able to overlook another.

“I am . . . the Collector,” Virgil announced himself grandly to the heads of the great households. “My collections are known all over the earth . . . you have heard of me, no doubt?”

And the fearful snobbish lords would nod earnestly. “Oh yes, who has not heard of you?”

“When I have my heart set on it . . . I will let no stone unturned until I have what I want . . . I must have it!” Virgil would roar, Eve looking startled at the change in the man.

“Why – yes – so you must, so you must!” The rich lords and ladies would agree, imagining the payment. “And you are collecting . . . ?”

“Amazons,” Virgil would proclaim coolly. “I am searching for the fierce Amazon women.”

Sometimes the lords and ladies would look disappointed; they had sold the woman, or she had died, or she had tried to run and had been killed. But a few times they were led to the scullery, where a wasted girl with big eyes would stare up at them, and answer to the name on the parchment; or they would be taken upstairs to an inner chamber, where a slatternly maid would start, and tremble, and then blink as though finally waking from a dream.

When they returned to the ship that evening, they brought with them less than a third of the women who had been enslaved. Virgil read out the names again; and they wept, and looked out again across the sea.

The large room looked empty in the half-light, and Xena grew rigid with fear. She had left to a buzz of sound; now there was silence.

A sob broke the quiet, and Xena turned sharply to her left. She hadn’t been abandoned – there was a group of women still there, sheltering in one another’s arms. She moved quickly over to them, her throat tightening.

“Gabrielle . . . Gabrielle?” she whispered, fearing the worst.

But Gabrielle’s familiar face turned to her, blotted with tears.

“Oh, Xena –“

Xena enfolded her friend in her arms, resting her head against her shoulder. “What happened?”

“They took so many, this time. They even took . . . they even took Ramona.”

“The little one? The one who wore the veil of silver?”

Gabrielle nodded. “She was so young, Xena. So young . . .”

She broke into fresh tears, and Xena held her close.

“He will be punished for what he has done, Gabrielle,” she promised her friend. “Oh, he will suffer.”

The gong sounded, and Xena was horrified to feel her heart leap. It was the boredom, she told herself quickly; it was worse than any torture for her. And the more she gained from the despot, the sooner they could escape . . .

Gabrielle squeezed her hand quickly, as she was led away by the pair of eunuchs, her head bowed. But once out in the hallway, a familiar voice startled her into awareness.

“Ahh, my friend.”

Xena looked at the swathed face and smiled a little, glad he had dismissed the sullen eunuchs.

“You’re sad.”

“No – I’m restless,” Xena replied honestly, her fists clenching restively. “I’ve been shut up so long in that over-warm room that I felt a little gladness at Ghurkan’s call . . . how do you think that makes me feel?”

“Where would you rather be?”

Xena considered, pausing in the narrow corridor. “Riding, maybe, through a forest – riding hard and fast, jumping fallen logs, soaring on Argo –“ Then she grinned. “Or diving into a river, with the pull of the current just dangerous enough to make my pulse race.”

“You’ll be there again.”

“I know I will,” Xena said fiercely. “I just never imagined I’d have to wait so long before seeing the sky . . .”

“Here – quick.”

Asher pushed Xena towards the right, and pulled back a hanging curtain. A narrow set of stairs was revealed, and with a nervous look at the hallway, he directed Xena upwards.

The staircase curved around, and Xena noticed that her slipper-clad feet disturbed the layer of dust over the wooden steps. She trailed her hand along the carved banister, wondering where Asher was leading her.

“Wait a moment.” She noticed a change in his voice, as muffled as it was. He sounded as excited as a boy. Amused, she paused while he pushed past her into the room just out of sight. There was a strange grinding noise, and she heard a grunt of exertion. Then a burst of light near blinded her.

“Come!”

It was silly, but somehow she felt her heart beating a little faster with excitement. She pulled herself up the final set of steps, and into the tower room.

And then, into the sky.

“Oh!” she gasped, standing in the centre of the small room, staring overhead. He had pulled back some kind of removable roof, somehow, so that they stood on a little platform, higher than anywhere else in the palace, higher than any tree, higher than a mast of a great ship. Higher than she’d ever been in her life.

Light filled the small space, and the sky seemed near enough to touch. She felt as though another step would bring her to the clouds, and she reached out a hand.

“See – there’s the ocean, the ports – can you see the ships?” he asked her excitedly, pointing to the little bobbing vessels, the sparkle of light upon water. Xena took in a deep breath, and could almost taste the salt of the sea.

The city lay below them, with its narrow winding streets, its buzz of noise, the colours of the markets and the people who inhabited it. As invisible as ants, scurrying about their business.

“I see,” she replied slowly, and a little sadly. She saw how Gurkhan could live among suffering, and be unaware. She remembered her own youth, how she had dreamt of conquering, of becoming a great ruler just like this tyrant. Was part of it a hope that the fates of those she destroyed would become as distant as these faraway people?

“It’s not enough, is it?”

Xena looked up quickly at the man. “You’ve given me more today than –“ She hesitated. “You’ve given me a great gift.”

“It’s not enough, is it?” he repeated, and Xena smiled.

“No,” she replied honestly. “I see, but I cannot touch; I know it’s there, but unless I experience it for myself, it remains a dream . . .”

There came a strange kind of awkwardness between them. She wanted to ask him again to remove his coverings, but somehow she couldn’t speak. She looked back down at the tiny streets with their tinier people, and then exclaimed.

“What is it?" he asked sharply.

Xena shook her head. Her eyes had to be playing tricks . . . because it seemed to her that there were two women making their way from the palace, one with a veil like silver, and they were free.

Then Asher was on the stairs, gesturing quickly.

“You will be late,” he said, his voice even more muffled than usual. “Come.”

She didn’t have a story for him that day.

A silver veil . . . walking out free . . . broken fingers . . .

“Entertain me.” The voice was insistent.

“I have no more fairy-tales,” she muttered, uncaring.

He laughed, low. “Then tell me something true.”

She clenched her fists. What as the truest thing she knew? She bit her lip, suddenly hating the darkness imposed on her by the blindfold. Hating its inequality.

“I tell you these stories about love,” she said abruptly. “But let me tell you something true. It’s about hate –“

“There was once a –“ Her mouth twisted, suddenly. “A prince, let us say. He held something in his hands, something like power, a power no one else could even dream about. It wasn’t possible for anyone else to hold this kind of power and live . . . and yet he used to promise a taste of it to his followers.” She shook her head as though to clear it of intruding images. “Let me tell you about the way hate disguises itself. Holding out fire to a child and begging her to touch it. And then jeering at her when she cries at the pain . . . “

“So what happened to this prince?” His voice reasonable, interested, even.

“He got burned,” Xena growled. Then she stopped, raised a hand and touched her own lips thoughtfully. “He got burned,” she repeated softly.

“This is about hate?” he asked then. “Sounds more like hope to me.”

He was checking the ropes, pulling tight on them, just as the sun was setting. Eve watched him, almost unaware of it herself. She’d discovered through a chance word that he had never killed before he had met her. That had horrified her so much that – Then she remembered her mother telling her that Gabrielle had never killed before she’d met her, either.

“Hey. Worried about Xena?”

Eve blinked away tears. “Yes – I shouldn’t be, I suppose.”

Virgil grasped her hand. “No crime to worry about those we love.”

His voice seem to linger a little on the final word, and Eve found her heartbeat starting to race. She looked up at him again, and smiled a little.

“I can’t help it, anyhow,” she admitted, then turned as footsteps approached.

“Why haven’t we left yet, for home?”

Eve looked up. “You’re Rani, right?”

The woman nodded.

“My mother is rescuing the slaves of Gurkhan’s palace,” she told her. “We will wait for her.”

Rani laughed then, and Eve frowned. “What is it?”

“Rescuing the slaves?” she repeated. “But don’t you know? The Lord Gurkhan has gone mad, or sick, or something. He has been freeing his slaves, almost every day now for moths, and sending them home on his great ships.” She pointed to the fleet of ships which bore his banner, now depleted. “What’s more, no one has seen Gurkhan – not for months.”

Virgil stared at her. “But I thought no one ever did see him?”

Rani shrugged. “None of the populace, of course. But the great families did meet him.” She looked at Eve directly. “The strange thing is, he is buying up slaves from all over the island . . . and freeing them directly. Why would he do such a thing?”

“And why then has my mother not yet been freed?”

There was a sharp sweet scent perfuming the air, not heavy and overpowering, but light and clear, reminding Xena somewhat of a fine wine. It was a flower’s scent, she was certain; but from a plant completely unknown to her. She drew in a breath, tasting the fragrance – it did not relax or dull her senses, but somehow sharpened them, satisfying her like a draught of cool water. The flower, she thought, would be pale, white or light blue, and the petals must be small and soft and delicate. Xena reached her hand to the flower, but instead found the man.

His chin was warm and rough under her touch, but she dropped her hand in an instant and fell at once, touching her forehead to the floor.

“You must forgive your servant,” she murmured. “I didn’t know my Lord was there.”

His hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her up. For an instant she stood there, waiting, before he pushed her sharply. She gasped, falling backwards – falling onto the softness of pillows, the smooth luxury of silk. Then she tensed, as her robe was pulled open and her skin laid bare. Xena almost opened her mouth desperately to begin a tale, when a thousand soft petals fell gently on her skin.

She felt the brush of each delicate flower on her, silky, gentle, exuding the same sweet perfume she had breathed. She let a sigh fall from her lips, and then touched a stray petal that had fallen on the corner of her mouth, first with her fingers, then with her tongue, tasting its sweet smoothness in her mouth. She ran her hand over the petals on her stomach; they did not secrete any oil, but settled lightly on her skin. She felt the air move in the room, and the petals moved over her with the breeze, touching her skin so gently that she shivered.

Xena heard him move beside her, and tensed again. But he was still, sitting on her left, waiting. She wondered if he wanted another story, but then she heard footsteps, and a servant placing something in his hands. He waited till the servant had departed, before moving the object close to her face.

It was a rose. Its heavy scent rose over the lighter perfume of the smaller flowers. Xena drew in a shuddering breath, tasting its heady fragrance. Her heartbeat began to race. The scent was so strong she could almost touch it. Her mouth opened a little, and he moved the rose gently against her lips, so lightly that a shiver of pleasure rushed through her body.

The rose moved over her mouth again, before following the curve of her face, the length of her neck to the base of her throat. It followed the line of her collarbone to her shoulders, then ran along the soft skin on the inside of her arms, running gently to the tips of her fingers. Xena began to tremble.

He moved the flower again to her throat, and now she flung her head back, breathing hard, while the rose moved over the soft skin of her breasts and her belly, tracing light patterns through the scattered petals. She felt his breath on her as he blew the stray petals from her skin, and she could not restrain another sigh. For an instant she felt his fingers upon her -

There was a sharp knock on the door.

The flower dropped, where it was, and Xena’s robe was pulled together roughly. She stood up, letting the hundred petals fall from her. Then her hand was taken, and she was led back to the Women’s Quarters, without a word.

Her blindfold was removed as usual just outside the door, and she was pushed through, rubbing at her eyes, adjusting the tie of her robe. The women inside were quiet, looking over at her dishevelled appearance.

Xena’s eyes sought out Gabrielle. Without a word, her friend left what she was doing and sat beside her, holding her hand.

“You smell like flowers,” she said.

Xena was coming back altered, each time, Gabrielle knew. It was tearing her up. Xena assured her that only words passed between them; but Gabrielle knew the power of words. Something was changing Xena, in ways she could not understand.

None of the women knew Sarah, and none of the originated from the same part of Greece. Gabrielle realised she was going to have to take a further risk to find the girl.

“There is someone who has been here, far longer than any of us,” Amarila whispered as the eunuchs left the room. “His wife.”

Gabrielle’s jaw dropped. “He has a wife?”

“To give him an heir? Of course. We are just for pleasure," Amarila said bitterly.

“I’ve never seen her –“

“You think she would consort with his harlots?” Amarila sneered. “She has her own quarters. But she knows each one of us.” She looked at Gabrielle carefully. “You see, it is her fear that one day, one of us might supplant her.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’d be afraid for your friend, if I was you. If she sends something in her food one day . . . well, who could say from where it originated?”

“I have to speak to her,” Gabrielle decided quickly.

Amarila stared at her. “Are you crazy? Leaving this place alone means death – and that woman would as likely kill you as look at you.”

“I don’t die so easily, either,” Gabrielle told her confidently. “The eunuchs have just left. I have at least an hour before they return with Xena . . .”

Amarila shook her head. “Goodbye, Gabrielle,” she said sadly. “There is no way you’ll come back to us alive.”

Gabrielle slipped out into the hallway, remembering what Xena had told her of the palace. The entrance to Gurkhan’s quarters was North . . . and she recalled that she had come in from the servants quarters, East. That left . . .

There was a sound, and she saw a servant marching up a broad staircase, carrying a tray of sweet foods. If it wasn’t for Gurkhan, then –

Gabrielle followed the woman unobtrusively through the corridors, occasionally throwing herself behind draperies and into doorways. Finally the woman paused in front of an elaborately decorated door, and knocked sharply.

“My Lady?”

Gabrielle’s stomach tightened with excitement. She waited until the servant had entered and was dismissed, then stood herself at the doorway. She rapped twice.

“Enter!”

Gabrielle pushed open the door and found herself in an over-decorated bedchamber, musty and dark.

“I had not yet finished, and you wish to disturb me again?” the woman asked sarcastically.

Gabrielle blinked in the dim light, and stepped forward. “Yes,” she said simply. “I do wish to disturb you.”

“No – don’t blindfold me today,” Xena said lazily.

Asher stared at her.

“What? You’ll have me killed!” he said, with a note of panic in his voice.

“You know what, Asher?” Xena told him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a liar.” She moved a hand under his head-coverings and ran her fingers slowly over his unblemished face. Then she turned and entered the labyrinth.

She no longer needed a guide; instead, her feet took her every step of the way. Up six steps, then down twelve; across a narrow passage, then through a doorway, through another . . . step by step the maze-like journey was made clear. She was not surprised to discover Asher had left her.

There was the door. She looked at its elaborate carvings with some pleasure, then kicked it open, making a satisfying crash in the stillness.

“Let me tell you a story,” Xena said in the silence, moving around the room without restraint, grabbing pieces of tapestry and tearing them down, flipping over small tables with her toes. “You see, there was once a man who didn’t know very much about being a man.” She discovered a tray filled with fine porcelain and smashed it piece by piece against the walls. “He made such a bad job of it that he managed to get himself captured by slavers.” She picked up a frail wooden chair, and tossed it at the metal stove. “That made him kind of angry, and he found the man who did it, and he killed him.” The stove itself made an enjoyable crash once kicked over. “But that wasn’t enough revenge for making this man feel small, and weak, and completely insignificant. He set himself the task of tearing down the man’s empire . .” The bowl exploded into shards. “ . . . his reputation . . .” The statue shattered. “ . . and everything about him . . .”

“I’m sorry, Xena.”

He appeared at the door, and she turned, a fragile vase held threateningly above her head.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel small . . .or weak . . . or insignificant.”

He crossed the room.

“How did you know?”

“I know your hands,” she told him, looking at them. “I broke your fingers . . .”

She took them, then, but she would not look at him.

“You did tell the right story. When you came – I was in a panic. I was afraid you might expose me –“

“You should have trusted me,” she said in a low voice. “Or just left me alone.”

He smiled a little at that. “You know I could never do that, Xena.”

She lifted her head, then, and looked on the face of the one she had once thought her bitterest enemy. “You never do give up, do you? Call yourself what you may, Gurkhan, Asher . . . Ares . . . I know you.” Then she paused. “But you sometimes manage to surprise me, nevertheless.”

Ares inclined his head. “I’ve surprised myself too, I think.” He looked around the destroyed room. “Who am I? Who’s Gurkhan?”

“Don’t ask me,” Xena answered, and ran her fingers over his uncovered face. Last time it had been damaged by her own fists. She kissed his lips, and they tasted of wine, not blood. She held his unbroken hands, and felt them move over her without a cry of pain. Then she forgot about before.

“Mother!” Eve threw herself into Xena’s arms. “I wasn’t worried . . . promise I wasn’t!”

Xena laughed. “I’m sorry I took so long.” Then she eyed the other occupants of the ship. “Or – maybe I’m not.”

Gabrielle swept Eve into a hug of her own. “Here, Eve – meet my niece. This is Sarah.”

Eve smiled at the woman standing in Gabrielle’s shadow. “I’m so glad they found you,” she said gently. “You don’t know how much we wanted to meet you.”

Then she hesitated, seeing someone else behind Sarah. “Ares? Were you – what were you –“

“Someone else we found,” Xena told her, grasping her hand firmly. “Come, we have out stories to tell and our tide to catch.”

“Where are we going?” Sarah whispered, as they boarded the ship.

“Home, of course,” Rani told her, pulling her aboard.

“I – I can’t,” she whimpered. “How could anyone accept me after the things that I have done?”

Eve looked up at Virgil, hanging from the riggings; Ares looked over at Xena, staring out to sea.

“Boy, are you in good company,” Gabrielle said finally, and then the sail unfurled, and they set course straight for home.

...h.o.m.e...
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