The Thing You Love

I would have known it, even if the rules of the Fates had not been made clear to me. When I spied upon her, a strange Xena lost in her drab village clothes, hefting water for her men – I knew that she needed to kill.

As soon as she had gone. I wanted her back; I had always wanted her back. The Fates told me she would remember nothing. I wanted her to remember it all.

I had dispatched Mezentius, the warlord who had made his camp outside Amphipolis, and had taken his place in the minds of his soldiers. She needed to get away from the village, I reasoned; she needed blood and swords. So I became the one who could give it all to her. I strode into my tent as Mezentius, cursing and laughing, I kicked at the little blonde slave half-asleep by the table; and then I stopped.

Well, well, well. I had to turn away quickly in order to hide a smile. The little gabbler didn’t do so well in this life, it seemed. I pulled up the woman’s face by her hair; she, too, was filthy, and her face was lined – and scarred. It was Gabrielle; and yet it wasn’t.

I wondered what to do with her, and it was then that I knew. If I rid myself of one village drudge, I could gain another easily. My dagger was at my hip; I lifted it out, and made ready to slit the girl’s throat.

She made no cry. Her expression was unchanged. I laid down my dagger, knowing somehow that Xena would find out, with her usual guile, and that it would not be well for me if she did so. Where are you from, I asked.

Potidea. She spoke flatly, as though she were in a dream. I called for the Captain’s man, and told him to escort her back to her town, and not allow her to return again. She made no speech of thanks; gave no backward look. She blinked a little, I think.

I need a new slave, I told the Captain of the guard. And so we rode out to Amphipolis, where the Captain of the guard told the people of our request; we needed supplies, and I wanted a slave. I looked about the village girls in their long coarse garments and then I saw her; her brother was gripping her arm, hard. She shook him off. He spoke furiously to her; I saw her face contract with pain, but knew she would refuse to listen. She stepped out to me.

I grabbed her arm and lifted her up onto my horse, and then looked at her brother. He wasn’t afraid. Not to die, not to kill me there, not any of it. But I would not kill him; I spurred on my horse and rode away, and made certain that the boy could not follow us. Later I sent word to him, that Xena’s well-being depended on his conduct.

I could not see her face. She was cloaked, and when I lifted her up she sat ahead of me in the saddle. I saw her back was straight and her chin was held high. I wondered whether she had hidden a dagger under her cloak, and the thought excited me. I imagined her facing me, fury in her eyes.

When we reached camp it was dark. I lifted her off the horse and flung her into my tent. I stood over her, and in her coarsely-woven peasant garb she seemed just a bundle of goods, a discarded sack. She did not move. I was uncertain, then, and I left her and went to my bed. Sometimes I liked to sleep.

When I woke up she was pacing the floor, and she had removed her cloak. I watched her. Her hair was tied back, tightly braided against her head. Her long skirts swished against her legs, her sleeves flapped. I had captured a lion, once, in a large pit in the forest; he had paced, too.

Those clothes won’t do, I said, startling her. She turned suddenly, and her chin was still upraised. I have no others, she said. I had insulted her peasant clothes, she had probably woven them herself. I laughed and then I moved out of bed. She did not flinch, and she did not move away. I let the excitement rise within me again, and then I went out of the tent.

She had no dagger, or I would have woken with it sticking out of my chest. I had to get her weapons, and I had to get her angry. I went a little way into the woods before drawing the things I wanted out of the air. I did not want her awed worship; I wanted her rage.

When I returned, she was chewing on a hard lump of bread, sitting on the floor. She did not rise. I threw the things at her feet, and told her to clothe herself. Her eyes challenged me, but I knew she would comply. The clothes I had chosen for her would draw her. I knew what would call to her.

I drilled the men all morning, waiting till after midday before I returned to the tent. The drab clothes were gone. She stood there, taller in her boots, her legs free beneath the short leather skirt, her arms unhindered. Untie your hair, I told her, and then we will go. I turned my back and she flung the dagger I had placed among her things. I plucked it from the air and her eyes widened.

Teach me how to do that. Her voice was the low controlled tones I knew well. I grinned and turned the dagger and threw it back at her. She captured it, and I grinned again. See, you knew, I said. She tried to hide the cut across her palm; I pretended not to see.

The next day I took her to the training circle and gave her a sword. In a single swift movement she took it from my hand and, turning, stabbed at me. I jumped; my quick movement saved me from a premature revelation.

I turned my sword upon her, and I fought hard. She knew the basic moves; she was quick and she was angry. I trained with my brother, she said. My brother. I inclined my head. What for, I asked. Your village gives in to any warlord or thief that passes by. I only had to ask, and you came to me.

It pleased me to see her anger grow and grow. She even allowed a growl to come out of her throat, as she leapt forward, trying to defend some strange honour. Why did you not defend your village, I asked, if you know how to use a sword.

She watched my eyes carefully, but replied, as though she knew she could say whatever she liked. I wanted to, she said, but the people of the village were afraid, and forbade it. Then she leapt again and kicked out my feet from under me, and held her sword to my throat. I could have killed them all, she said.

I flipped her off, and then leapt over her and behind her, my blade cool on her neck. She did not tremble. Teach me, she said, and she turned to face me. I want to know how to move like that.

So I taught her.

Every morning I drilled with the men; in the afternoons I trained with her in the ring, and she grew more skilled. Sometimes I forgot who she was; I would refer to some battle we had fought, and her eyes would narrow with confusion. Then I would remember that I needed to teach her to kill.

Once I assured her that I had told the men not to touch her. She gave me a strange look, as though I was foolish to believe she would be frightened of them. And when I watched her I saw she was right; they looked at her and were afraid.

One day I told her to capture my kestrel, who had gone free; she ran all day, but she found the bird, and when she returned she was glowing, and the bird was on her wrist.

He only comes for me, I said, feigning offence; but she just nodded, as though accepting some kind of accolade. Then I said, still in an angry voice, so will you ride my horse also.

She clutched my hand then, and my heart beat harder for a moment. I could not understand why. But the next day I went out with her on my black stallion to the great plain on the other side of the wood. Then I dismounted.

Ride, I told her. She looked at me with an odd expression, but then she looked towards the hills. She kicked my horse and galloped out on the plain.

I watched her ride until her figure disappeared into shadows. And then a moment after that I heard her ululation.

At the sound of her wild voice my heart moved. I stopped breathing; I heard my pulse drumming in my ears. My head moved up to see her come back towards me. She was looking for me.

Her eyes were on mine for a mile before she arrived. Then I was up in the saddle behind her, my arm about her. I rode with her head at my heart. We rode hard across the plains until the horse’s sides were slick with sweat. I turned to beast towards home, and then I dismounted.

Go back to the camp, I commanded.

It was near dark when I returned to the tent. She moved towards me, but I pushed her to the floor. You can go, I said. We will be leaving here, I don’t need a hostage any longer.

She made no reply; there was silence. I tore off my gauntlets. Go back to your village, go back to your brother, I told her. Leave me.

She said nothing. She stayed on the floor, and when I reached for her to fling her out I knew her strength. She kicked at me, stubbornly silent on the floor of my tent. She resisted me and when I grasped her hand she pulled me down.

Her eyes were all I could see.

Did you think you could just leave me, she said. Did you think I could just go back after all of this. If you wanted to treat me as a slave you should have done so from the start, but I am no slave to you. You let me speak out and you did not laugh at my words. You let me ride and you let me run. You fought with me and you did not hold back. Not once did you despise me because I was a woman.

I knew I had made a terrible mistake; I had offered her something I did not know if I could give.

Her voice was hoarse and her hand gripped about my wrist like a trap for an animal. I lay on my back on the floor in the dirt.

You opened my eyes; can you close them as easily, she asked. You showed me the whole world, and now you push me into a cage.

As soon as she said that I saw her on the horse and I heard her shout of freedom. Now her fierce body trembled, while I stared at her. Her hand relaxed, but I could not bear to lose that least touch, and I slid my hand along hers until our fingertips touched. Our hands shaking. Then suddenly they were clasped together like the truest part of a chain, and our eyes met and finally our lips.

The strangest feeling came over me, it was something like joy. My mouth fed upon hers so hungrily, I wanted to devour every part of her. I kissed her until I knew I could breathe again, and then I kissed her face and her throat. The soft sound she made when I kissed her throat made my heart drum so hard it frightened me.

I picked her up then and laid her on the green covering of my bed, tearing off her clothes until she was white against its darkness. Her hair spread out. I buried my face within her hair; we lay there, still, and I heard her heart thrum like a little bird.

Then her expression softened and she lifted her face up to mine. Her tongue warm and gentle in my mouth. My hand slid over the curves of her body, the soft skin on her right breast, the muscles in her belly. When my fingers brushed the inside of her thigh, she made a sudden low sound that made my own body pound with desire.

I forgot everything else that I had planned or decided. This was what was supposed to happen, was meant to be. This was who I was supposed to become, her lover; this was the moment for which the world had been born, I had been created. I kissed her breast, I tasted the warm skin until she cried out; and when finally she begged me to join her I did so forgetting that in this world she had never known a man.

I lay upon her still and quiet after her first muffled protest. I looked in her eyes again and saw the blue depths as trusting as any I’d known. I lived in her gaze for the longest time; then her body rose under me and I cried out her name, loud, against the night.

Her hips lifted against me and we were moving together, her head cradled at my shoulder, her hands tight around my arms. Then I saw her eyes, there was a flash of fear before she cried out, before she flung her head back and cried out again.

I knew that fear; and she saw it in my eyes too.

I woke with her in my arms. Her whole body was lying on mine, her sleeping head upon my chest. I felt light and strange, and then I realised that I was happy.

When she woke she lifted up her head and smiled at me. Then she jumped up from the bed, and held my hands, and pulled me up, energy blazing out of her.

Let’s fight, she said, and turned to find herself fresh clothes, as those of last night were torn. I feel like fighting, she said, plaiting her dark hair away from her face, sliding on her gauntlets.

I watched her, my head cocked to one side, marvelling at her, the way she moved. Enjoying the sight of her. It was all I could think about. I wondered at her; her deft fingers lacing her bodice, her strong legs stretched out to pull on a boot.

I was still naked. I stayed on the bed; I sat and watched her dress herself. She stopped, and looked at me, with a strange smile on her face. Then she moved forward almost shyly. She moved to stand between my legs and then lifted up my face and kissed me.

My heart beat hard at her gentle kisses. She kissed me, stopped, looked at my eyes, kissed me again. Kissed me again. I sighed against her sweet mouth. Desire rose up within me and I slipped a hand beneath her tunic, cupping her left breast, hearing the moment when she stopped being able to breathe.

She slid down my body and I moved with her. I lifted her tunic over her head, flinging it away. Then I laid firm hands on her hips, while I dipped my head and tasted her at last. Her hands were over mine, clinging as though she would fall. My tongue brushed roughly over her and she sighed so deeply I felt her breaths. Then I drew her up to straddle me and she tasted herself on my lips, and muffled my shouts with her kisses.

I was slick with sweat in her arms. She laughed at me, and I felt my heart turn over. Come fight with me, she said again. And so I followed her out to the training ring.

We grabbed our swords and began to clash loudly, laughing crazily, leaping, moving about the ring, around and around. See how I remember what you taught me, she said, and she flipped over me, holding her blade to my throat and kicking out my legs from under me. She fell with me and then brushed her fingers through my hair so gently.

Then we rose, clashed swords again, roaring, moving around one another, in some kind of joyous dance as sensual as our lovemaking. Our eyes met at every blow.

I watched her in wonder, her deft bold movements, her hair flying out free, her lip curled in the half-grin as she enjoyed the stretch of her muscles, the challenge of the game. She was nearly as good as me; if had been mortal, she could have killed me. That was what he must have thought.

There was a kind of noise behind me.

Then she screamed. I paused, and turned, and saw the Captain behind me. I turned back to her. I watched so slowly. His sword was in her side; hers was in his. Then they both fell together.

There was blood on her lips. Her face so pale, her eyes so large. I pulled the sword out of her side and she screamed again.

Her blood was on the ground, with his. I knew their wounds would kill them, but kill them slowly. I would watch my Xena die in agony before she could be transformed by the Captain’s blood.

So I lifted her in my arms and took her to the Fates.

They say that Xena had no real reward, because I stepped in. So she deserves another opportunity. This time they are taking no chances; she will remember her true life.

They say that when Xena wakes to her new life, I will wake too, and every memory I have of our time will disappear. I don’t believe it. I won’t.

I will remember that I loved her. I will. I know I won’t forget. I will always remember . . .

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