Contact: phineasredux003@Gmail.com
—OOO—
Summary:— Xena and Gabrielle go about their daily activities in Athens though with contrasting outlooks on a variety of topics great and small.
Note:— There is some light swearing in this tale.
Disclaimer:— MCA/Universal/RenPics, or whomever, own all copyrights to everything related to ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’ and I have no rights to them.
—O—
First—Swords & Sais & How to Buy Them
“I’m bored, think I’ll go t’the Agora an’ buy myself a new sword—comin’?”
“Hades, no! I’m goin t’the Southern Piraean Gate, there’s a horse show an’ market on there t’day. Thinkin’ of buyin’ a two horse chariot!”
“You’re what? Why?”
“—‘cause!”
“Oh, that’ makes it all right, of course; be it on your own head, dearie.”
And so the morning conversation, over breakfast, of the Princess and the Queen came to its usual conclusion—slight misapprehension, not to say suspicion, and doubt on both sides.
“See ya back here for lunch, OK?”
“Suppose! Might be a tad late, mind.”
“Oh, why?”
“Ful’la questions, aren’t ya, lady?” Gabrielle beginning to get a trifle miffed. “Ya know what happens to those who peer through keyholes where they ain’t wanted?”
“What?”
“Their noses get caught in the keyhole an’ have t’be cut off t’get free again. My mother often told me that when I was a kid—take note, dear.”
“Your mother can go an’—”
“What, lady, what? Come on, tell me! I’ve often wondered what your last words’d be—seems I’m gon’na find out now!”
“Oh, nuthin’!” Xena, for once, taking the more travelled road of submission to the inevitable. “Go an’ buy your chariot—but you’ll regret it, I tell ya now. You, drivin’ a two-horse chariot? Ha-ha!”
Before Gabrielle could think of a suitably cutting rejoinder the door to their room at the Inn had closed behind the Princess, leaving the Queen muttering dark but comforting thoughts to herself.
—O—
One does not go about buying a new sword without preparation; no, one considers all the likely problems which might be associated with such a purchase—but being a warrior woman of international renown has its good points in this situation.
Athens was famous for having the most number of armour, weapons, and military equipment shops and traders second only to the nearby port of Piraeus; but the warrior didn’t feel like traveling the four stade or so west that day, so settled for the several available in and near the Agora, that popular open market-place in the centre of the city.
A small market had been set-up in the Agora that morning, consisting of a multitude of second-rate and second-hand traders and merchants. Amongst which were several purporting to sell weapons from all over Greece and places further afield—their quality, however, being somewhat to wish for. Feeling bright and cheerful Xena thought she’d get herself into the mood by casting an eye over these before hitting the real merchants’ shops.
“What’s this?” Picking up a weapon from the nearest bench. “It’s painted wood.”
The stall-owner, an oily well-padded individual of uncertain age, but great smarm, grinned enticingly at his customer.
“It’s fer descriptive purposes only, ma’am. Gives yer an idea of the shape an’ elegance o’the weapon; then ye orders it from me, I sends the order off to the swordsmith, down in Southern Greece an’ the next time I’m over in this direction, some months from now, yer gets yer weapon, see? Cash up front, o’course.”
Xena could see very well, from both optics and didn’t like what she saw from either.
“Laddie, if I wasn’t in such a good mood, this descriptive sword’d be solidly embedded somewhere the Sun don’t shine, if yer get’s my meanin’!”
The trader watched with a frown as the tall dark woman walked off, never realising how close to a one-way ticket to Tartarus he had actually come.
Further on, amongst the jostling crowd, another table showed a number of pieces of military equipment, seemingly from a group of personal gear. Behind the stand a young woman in her mid-twenties stood looking somewhat disconsolately at the people passing her display. The warrior woman instantly catching onto the situation, pausing to rifle through the items with her left hand.
“This Scythian dagger’s in good condition, hardly used.”
“Yes, madam, my hus—that is, it’s seen little use, I’m afraid.”
Xena hefted the weapon in her hand, judging its quality from years of experience.
“They make ‘em good in Scythia, one of the few things they do! How much?”
The young woman paused in thought, blinking her red-lined eyes the while, clearly uncertain of what to ask.
“Five drachma, ma’am? If you think that’s too—”
“Look,” Xena, following her own route towards charity-without-showing-off, lifted her right eyebrow in thought. “I only have two tetradrachms on me at the moment; tell ya what, I’ll give ya both an’ jus’ see how the dagger pans out—might be worth the whole lot, in the end, anyway, who knows!”
“Thank you, ma’am! Are you sur—”
“Yep, I never go back on a deal, especially when I think I’m gettin’ the best of it, dear! There ya are, thanks.”
Walking away, towards the Stoa of Attalos, Xena could feel the astonished gaze of the girl on her back almost the whole way before she was lost amongst the shifting crowd.
“Gods! I blame it all on you, Gabrielle!”
Reaching the two-storey Stoa Xena passed through the line of outer pillars to the interior corridor, the far side lined by shops while the marble floor of the wide long public passageway was nearly invisible under the many display stands. But she made immediately for the side stairs to her left which led to the upper storey where the main weapons dealers had their shops.
The first she entered was lit by the wide window looking out onto the passing customers and a single smaller window in the rear. On the racks and counters were a multitude of weapons, from a variety of origins. Xena picked-up a curious, rather heavy two-edged sword with a wide forward angled cross-hilt and huge wide blade nearly as long as she was tall, glancing over to the man behind the nearest counter.
“What in Hades’ is this? Looks like it was made for a God t’use!”
“Ah, one of our curiosities, ma’am.” The man slipped round to stand beside her, eagerly rubbing both hands together in a well-honed reflex action. “Comes from far Britannia, they likin’ ‘em big there, so I’m told; called a claymore, I understand.”
Giving the man a keen glance, judging whether he had any ulterior design behind his words, and finally casting this thought aside, Xena returned to the weapon under discussion.
“Dam’ silly fightin’ weapon, you’d have hardly raised it above your head than the counterweight’d pull ya backwards off your feet—useless!”
“It’s not meant for sale, ma’am.” The trader nodding knowingly. “Only display, I believe the men over there usually use such weapons while on horseback; chargin’ the enemy, or so forth. Don’t know how really effectual it would be though, as you say, ma’am.”
Xena put the sword back on its stand with a muffled snort of disapproval, moving over to another stand where something else had caught her eye.
“Corinthian sai! These look more like it! Lem’me take a look—gim’me room!”
The man standing back as ordered Xena fell to examining the wares laid out for sale. The variety of sai, a weapon made up of a dagger with two ancillary blades one on either side, these latter shorter than the main blade, showed the undeniable marks of master craftsmen in their smooth elegance as well as top quality materials—most being made of the finest steel available; they differing only in their varying styles.
“I like these two with the green leather hilts, they’d suit someone I know down t’the ground. And the blades look excellent, too. The side blades are sharpened to fine edges also, I see.”
“Yes, a departure from the usual dull side blades; it’s a new fashion comin’ to the fore, I understand. Users findin’ three sharp blades better than one, in certain circumstances, no doubt.”
“Yeah, no doubt. I’ll buy ‘em. How much?”
“May I look at the label, ma’am? Ah, yes, thirty-two drachma, ma’am. Top quality, y’know.”
However much the quality might factor into the equation Xena still wasn’t having any of it—not having been born yesterday, nor even the day before.
“Thirty-two drachma? Are ya out’ta your mind? That’s thirty drachma too much, in my estimation. Wha’d’ya say, laddie?”
The trader twisted his shoulders, as one getting ready for the good fight, he having had a lifetime’s experience in the art of haggling over the merest loose obol.
“Let me see, ma’am. Top quality work, from a top quality craftsman from Corinth, the heart of the fine-bladed weapons industry. Ya can’t get better than a Corinth blade, as ya well knows, ma’am. No-no, thirty-two drachmas is right enough, ma’am. In cash, or thirty-eight drachmas over ten months, if you’d like to leave your name an’ residence an’ the name of at least one other backer, ma’am. A legal requirement, y’understand.”
Xena sighed gently, more so than the case needed she thought.
“Laddie, thirty-two drachmas is enough for a steady-livin’ gal t’live on fer the best part of a year, meanwhile consumin’ food an’ wine like a lily-eatin’ Sybarite, which I ain’t. Eight drachma, an’ that’s my final offer.”
The merchant could see that what the situation now required was the hard technique as opposed to the lily-livered response.
“Hah, most amusin’ ma’am. Twenty-eight drachma, an’ I’m losin’ on the deal as a result, ma’am.”
Xena hefted the sai in each hand, judging their weight and balance, quite well aware this price was perfectly acceptable for such finely made examples of their type.
“Dear-dear, you must think me a innocent virgin, the which I haven’t been fer decades past, laddie! Twelve drachma, an’ I’m missin’ my mid-day meal as a result!”
A quick glance at her leather corseted waist; the idle thought, foundationless, she might well do from missing such a meal for once, then the even clearer idea that he wanted to live to enjoy his evening meal, made him change his mind about speaking openly on the subject. But business was business.
“If I sold all my stock at these prices I’d be a broken man in a month, ma’am. Have you no mercy? Oh, alright, twenty-five drachma!”
Xena could see the shy climax of a good deal when it hovered invitingly in the wings.
“Twenty round, an’ it’s a deal!”
“Oh, Gods!” The man’s lips quivered, as did his very soul within, but a sale was a sale, and it had been a quiet day so far. “Oh, Gods! Yeah, twenty it is; but I’ll never recover, ma’am; I hope you realise!”
Xena grinned broadly, reaching into her waist-purse for the coins
“Take deep breaths an’ just think that for every sound customer passin’-by there are twenty saps at their heels eager ter throw their money at ya! Wrap ‘em in a cloth or somethin’, please. I want them to be a surprise present.”
“Yes, ma’am, surely!”
—O—
Second—Two Horses & a Chariot
The trouble with a two horse chariot was that the prime movers of such an equipage, the horses, had to get on with each other; if not then you were in trouble—Gabrielle was in trouble.
“Great Athena! Stop dam’ prancin’ around like a Princess!”
She was hanging on for dear life to the left-hand bridle of the horse on the right, the black one, while it jerked and shifted from side to side, snorting the while making its unhappiness with the situation only all too clear.
“I told you it wouldn’t stand for partnering the white one! I told ya!”
“Yeah-yeah!” Gabrielle under some strain and not really wanting at the moment to engage in conversation—a rare event for her. “It’s only a slight case o’nerves; seen it many a time before. Give it a little while and it’ll calm down.”
“Black an’ white’s never get on t’gether.” The horse trader standing on his honor on this topic if no other. “It’s a well-known fact, they just don’t, is all. I told ya not to buy an odd-coloured couple, but would ya listen, ma’am?”
“I make my own decisions, mister!” Gabrielle fast running out of that moral purpose she so often lectured others about. “Ya can tell me what ya like; but I’ll make my own mind up, thanks! I like the contrast.”
“Ya what?” The dealer in the dark as he stepped back a few more paces out of the danger zone as the chariot bounced on its wheels. “The white one ain’t exactly happy itself, as ya can see. Tell ya what, I’ll exchange the black fer a brown or another white at no extra cost—can ya say fairer than that, ma’am.”
“Why—Gra-aah! Why’d ya want so strong t’change the dam’ hoss? It’s only settlin’-in’s all.”
“Great Hephaistos!” The dealer shaking his head in disbelief. “Only ‘cause I don’t want your blood, an’ twisted dead body, lying on my trainin’ field fer every passin’ citizen t’cast their eyes over! Ma’am, carry on like this an’ there’s gon’na be a fatality—an’ it won’t be one of the hosses! Give over, ma’am! Leave go of the dam’ bridle fer dear Athena’s sake!”
This was all taking place in a very public space indeed, the wide grassy fields just outside the Piraean Gate where several horse dealers had their stalls, pens, and chariots for sale set out on the even turf for examination. Citizens could wander at will throughout the wide-spreading stalls and roped-off training sections of grassland where individual horses could show their paces, or various chariots show theirs. Gabrielle’s little adventure presently having brought a rather larger crowd of spectators than usual around the roped-off area where she was now attempting to instill some idea of discipline into the black horse, part duo alongside its white companion—as she had said, Gabrielle having that kind of artistic view of what a team of chariot horses should be made up of.
“Madam, fer the last time—Gods, why’d I let ya harness ‘em t’gether in the first place?—must be losin’ my mind! Madam, please stop that, let it go; let’s unharness the dam’ black an’ replace it with a hoss that won’t try t’re-enact the Peloponnesian War like this one, please!”
Meanwhile another spectator had joined the interested crowd.
“Hi, gal! What the Hades d’ya think you’re doin? Let go the dam’ bridle before the dam’ hoss eats ya!”
For the last few breaths of this ongoing incident Gabrielle had been more off her feet than on them; the black horse one of incredible strength and not unwilling to show it. Dragged from side to side, side-stepping and jumping from foot to foot as each movement of the horse required the Amazon Queen was almost at the end of her tether.
“Don’t just stand there burblin’ t’yourself, woman! Come an’ lend a bloody hand, will ya?”
Xena so pleaded with, shook her head, took a few paces forward, grasped the horse’s bridle and, within two breaths had the animal standing quiet and motionless, breathing noisily through its nostrils.
“See, that’s the way t’do it, gel.”
“Ha-aarh!”
Gabrielle, standing to one side too much involved in getting her breath back for any more sustained reply, merely carried on huffing and grunting.
“Can tell ya where ya went wrong too, sis.”
“Oh, can you, indeed.”
“Never pair a black horse with a white one; they’ll take against each other from the first pace—well-known fact.”
“Been tellin’ her that myself these last two clepsydras, ma’am—but would she listen t’expert advice?”
Gabrielle looked daggers at both her interlocutors, giving them both equal measure of the green sparks flickering in her eyes.
“An’ another thing, dearie.”
“Oh, Gods! What then; go on, tell me—I can see you’re rarin’ t’get it off you chest.”
“They’re both stallions—are ya mad, Gabs? Never pair stallions, they’ll just fight for all eternity; thought you’d have known that simple fact, at least?”
“Told her, ma’am,” The dealer jumping in again. “but would she listen?”
But the Amazon Queen had taken enough, from various quarters, and now exerted her authority.
“Listen guys, I’ve decided t’buy a chariot. That chariot is this chariot. I’ve also decided t’buy two hosses t’drive the bloody thing. Those two hosses is these two hosses—no, don’t complain, my mind’s made up. An’ I mean t’tame both these two dam’ escapees from Tartarus if it kills me—”
“The which it very well may, ma’am,” The dealer exerting his expert knowledge in the matter. “as I’ve persistently made plain this whole dam’ mornin’. How about ya give me back the hosses an’ the chariot, an’ I gives yer back yer payment in full? That way neither of us wins nor loses—an’ you gets ter stay alive. Cain’t say fairer than that, surely?”
Gabrielle, as this conversation advanced, had been half crouching hands on knees taking deep breaths in order to recover from her recent exertions; now she stood to her full height, obviously ready for any length of argument needed to win her cause. Seeing the way the wind blew Xena tried another angle.
“Could have them both—er, you know? But that’d take months before you could have them back in harness. What about it?”
Gabrielle considered the matter with furrowed brow, but before she could reach a conclusion the dealer butted in once more.
“Couldn’t allow that, ma’am. These two hosses is some of my best stock; many a owner wantin’ just this type of undamaged stallion fer breedin’ purposes, an’ for the simple show o’the thing. Couldn’t let assets of this nature go fer that kind of re-adjustment, no way, ma’am.”
“Let these go then, an’ buy another pair, Gabrielle. You know it’s the wise move. Imagine what your Amazon sisters would think, otherwise.”
Stabbed so ruthlessly at the heart of that she held most dear Gabrielle huffed, puffed, muttered something altogether outrageous under her breath, and gave in to necessity.
“Oh, alright; gim’me a pair of brown ones instead, dealer—an’ don’t make either stallions, OK?”
“On it, ma’am; have ‘em over in harness in two jiffies, don’t go away. They’ll be the best team you’ve ever driven. Jus’ t’remark on same, ma’am—what sort’a experience you had in drivin’ a two-horse chariot, jus’ out’ta idle curiosity?”
“None. Ain’t ever driven a chariot ever before.” Gabrielle wholly unapologetic in admitting to this shocking confession.
“What!” The dealer taken completely by surprise, stunned to his core.
“Knew same already,” Xena smirking widely without the least shame. “just didn’t want to point the finger’s all.”
“Graa-aah!”
“Where’re ya goin’, anyway?”
“Oh, anywhere—the Di-Pylon Gate?”
“What! Ya ain’t thinkin’ of drivin’ all the way through the centre of Athens, are ya? Why?”
“They’re holding a scroll Fair there’s all.” Brought to this confession Gabrielle was clearly all agog to reach her destination. “You know, scrolls by the hundred—fine ones, dirty ones—old, I mean; ancient ones, new ones. That reminds me, can you lend me, oh, four hundred drachma?”
The Princess very nearly actually fell off the open standing-platform of the chariot at this—she having a fine and deeply held love for every obol never mind drachma she had ever earned.
“Only when Tartarus freezes over, darling! And Hades himself comes to Athens to take the starring role in one of Aristophanes’ Comedies on a long term contract. When d’ya think that’ll happen, dearie?”
“Oh, very funny!”
“An’ you’re determined t’drive this chariot there?”
“Why not? Folks can easy get out’ta my way as we pass; take their chances, can’t they?”
The possibility of this level of chariot driving taking place in reality, with her an unwilling participant, was that step too far for the Warrior Princess—who had just as much regard for her own head and general safety as any ordinary person.
“Gabrielle, we got’ta talk about health an’ safety an’ rules an’ regulations an’ Laws an’ suchlike. You can’t just mow citizens down in vast numbers, an’ say it was their fault for not movin’ fast enough themselves! Don’t ya ever think rationally, madam?”
The Amazon, however, was in an awkward mood, excited by her new purchase.
“Only on every third Freya’s Day in the month, dear; an’ then only when the Sun shines!”
“Gods!”
—O—
Third—How to be A Literary Amazon Warrior
By some miracle, Xena still gasping for breath mentally if not physically, they had reached the Di-Pylon Gate in the north-west of the city unscathed; which could not be said for a large number of citizens they, or at least Gabrielle, had left in her wake in driving there through the heart of the teeming city. Xena pretty much sure the City Guard would be on the lookout for the chariot on the way back; a possibility the driver was entirely oblivious to.
“Here we are.”
Xena glanced around as she stepped down from the chariot, not without a sigh of relief.
“Where’s here, then? A crummy back-street ful’la broken-down tenements four storeys high—like a canyon in the desert.”
Gabrielle laughed as she joined the Princess on the shabby sidewalk.
“This’s the pinnacle of the old-scroll selling district, for your information; no less than six shops in this street alone, everyone comes here who loves old scrolls.”
Xena was immediately suspicious.
“Old? How old exactly? Old enough for ‘em t’be turnin’ t’dust as ya pick ‘em up off the stall? That kind’a old?”
“Silly! Nah, just a coupl’a hundred years at worst, meb’be a few more’n that on occasion; but perfectly readable still, or even I wouldn’t buy them.”
From Xena’s expression it was plain she took this last statement with a large pinch of salt, but she accompanied her partner along the street though all the same glancing from side to side with an unfriendly outlook over everything she saw.
“Here we are—Atticus’s Scroll Shop, best bargains in the City. Come on, follow me, an’ be pleasant, he’s an old man.”
Inside Xena found herself in what could only be described as a dark hole; it being no more than ten paces deep by four or so wide, the walls crammed with square receptacles for scrolls over every available portion of space while a long table held even more piles of rolled parchment. There were literally hundreds, if not thousands, of scrolls packed into the room; all dusty, careworn, torn, or dirty to an incredible degree—Gabrielle looked as if she was in the Elysian Fields as she darted about from one nook to another picking at the scrolls like a young girl at a party trying every available item spread out to eat.
“Look, Phidias’s ‘How to Carve Monumental Sculpture’, I must have that! And is this—yes, it is! Persius’s ‘Epic Poetry’! Don’t you just love the Old Poets, Xena?”
“Nah, Xenophon’s my man, as ya well know.”
“Huh, stuffy old bore, though he’s good on how to run an army, give you that.”
“Thanks,” Xena peering around in the dim interior wondering if there was anything at all to her taste there. “where’s the owner, by the way?”
“Here, madam, at your service.”
A pile of dusty old clothes, as the Princess had taken them for, dumped half across a nearby table suddenly moved slightly and she found herself facing an ancient old man by her side.
“Phalaikos, by name, ma’am. Can I be of assistance? Who might your author of interest of the moment be, if I may ask?”
“Ah—ah! That is—Xenophon?”
“Oh, the Great! Yes, of course, I believe I have a fine selection of his works—somewhere. Just give me time to find them, ma’am. Some might be, ahum, slightly aged with, er, age, y’know.”
As the man tottered slowly off to scrabble at a high row of pigeon-holes on the left side of the shop Xena saw Gabrielle crouching on her knee consulting a row nearly down at floor level, a fine cloud of dust enveloping her in the process.
“Hey, lady, I’ve just found an original scroll of Aristodikos, would ya believe it! Been hoping to find his work for years. I’m taking this, for sure.”
“Here we are, madam—Xenophon.” The man having surprisingly returned with a handful of dirty scrolls. “Not perhaps in the best condition, but we can easily knock something off the price for that, can’t we?”
Before she could say the owner nay she found a row of scrolls laid out on the table for her scrutiny while the smiling owner stood back, a job well done. Finding no other course open Xena sighed and bent to examine the haul, wondering if any of it was worth anything other than using as kindling for a kitchen or camp fire. But she was soon pleasantly surprised, seeing a scroll, dirty old and much faded, of the Anabasis in an amazingly old edition.
“This looks interesting, I got’ta say.”
“The Eleusinian Variant edition, published two hundred years ago, ma’am.” The shop-owner having the details at his fingertips. “Said to contain a great deal of original material long since excised from later editions, for one reason or another, you understand.”
“Oh-Oh, is that so?” She much interested as a result. “How much?”
The owner took the scroll, examining it as if a gem of the first water.
“Let me see—dirty, but aren’t they all, age you know; torn across the bottom with a couple of the lines missing a short way into the text; ink much faded, almost indecipherable in places; written in the Dorian manner, two rows of text on the parchment; length, about forty hands, or so. Shall we say, oh, seven drachma?”
The Princess well knew when it was time to bargain.
“I’ll give ya three!”
“I’ll take five!”
“I’ve got four in my pouch as we speak!”
“Done!”
Gabrielle meanwhile had been amassing a frightening number of scrolls, consisting of every genre known, and some that weren’t. Scrabbling them altogether in her arms she struggled to bring them over to the table where she deposited them in a heap that spread dust into every corner of the shop, but mostly the lungs of the three inmates.
“Great Athena, baby, be careful, you’ll choke us!”
“Sorry, not my fault though.” The Amazon wholly unrepentant. “So, how much, Phalaikos? An’ remember from last time, ya can’t hoodwink me!”
“My-my, ma’am; are you sure you want all these?”
“Of course, every one!”
“Roaring Ares, Gabs, have ya lost your mind?” Xena shocked at the simple number under discussion. “The Alexandrian Library hasn’t got so many as this!”
“Don’t be silly, dear. Yeah, of course—every one, no matter what state many of ‘em may be in.””
“Give me half a clepsydra, please, this needs some calculation—um—um—uum!”
Some considerable time later, Xena having had enormous difficulty in stopping her lover from a second assault on the stock surrounding her, the owner came back with his proposition.
“Seventy drachma.”
“You what?” Xena nearly stunned speechless.
“Don’t worry, lady, I got this.” Gabrielle smiling that cold tight smile of an Amazon who knew exactly how to destroy her opponent in record time. “So, Phalaikos, seventy drachma, eh? How’s about, taking the raggety-taggety nature of the stock we’re talkin’ about into consideration, and the fact no-one’s read any of these in the last hundred years at least nor likely to except for me in the coming hundred, what say we call it a deal on, oh, thirty-five drachma?”
Phalaikos looked as if about to burst into tears, but rallied to the cause like a hero.
“You’re doing what you did the last time, aren’t you, ma’am? Oh, shall we say sixty drachma?”
“We can say sixty easily—but we won’t pay it.” Gabrielle grinning broadly, sure of her stance. “Forty.”
“I’d starve for sure on forty—I might be able to pull through on fifty.”
“Try livin’ on beans an’ oatcakes—forty-five.”
“Oh, Gods! Alright—forty-five. You drive a hard bargain, madam.”
“—‘course I do!” Gabrielle taking this as a compliment of the highest order. “Don’t bother wrapping them, I’ll take them as is, in this saddle-bag an’ my friend’s arms, OK?”
“Oh, ya think so, ducks?”
“Come on, make yourself useful, lady. We still got’ta get back to our Inn, through the Agora on my new chariot!”
“Oh, Gods!”
—O—
Fourth—Driving Through Athens Without a Licence
Thank all the Gods in the Athenian Pantheon; for the citizens this day certainly needed same—Gabrielle was driving a chariot through the streets with Queenly disregard for such a minor factor as people’s safety—as Xena, her passenger therein, had quickly found out. The chariot was now weighed down at its rear by the multitude of old scrolls Gabrielle had purchased and which now resided in an old saddle-bag brought for the occasion, or loose around the heels of the two riders, thus making the vehicle all the more unstable to drive than it had been previously, as Gabrielle was quickly finding out.
“Not so fast! Not so fast! Not so f-ckin’ fast, woman! Have ya lost your senses?”
The Pan-Athenaic Way was the widest and straightest road through Athens—but not wide enough nor straight enough for the fledgling Amazon chariot-driver.
“Yeah-yeah, don’t panic so, woman! I’m on it—Hey, ya idiot, get out’ta my way!”
The fact that the Amazon had chosen to drive along every street in a curious snake-like motion from one side of the thoroughfare to the other, wholly disregarding passing pedestrians needs in doing so had given the Princess, in her stead, the early sensation that many of her dark tresses would be anything but by the end of the journey.
“Gabs, slow down!”
“Oh, alright, scaredy-cat!”
But she did pull back on the reins controlling the two brown mares, their manes flying in the passing breeze even though it was otherwise a completely calm day.
“That better?”
“Where’re ya goin’, anyway?”
“Back to our Inn, why?”
“What! Ya ain’t thinkin’ of drivin’ like this back through the Agora again, are ya?”
“Why not? Folks there can easy get out’ta my way like they all did when we came through on our way t’the Di-Pylon Gate district. They moved fast enough then, didn’t they?”
The Warrior Princess driven, in actuality, too far made her opposition plain.
“Stop! Stop, Gabrielle, right now. Stop!”
Pulling hard on the reins Gabrielle dutifully brought the chariot to a halt in the middle of the street, to the loud remonstrations of a cart hauling wine amphora behind her.
“Go round me, can’t ya, ya moron. Why’re ya followin’ so close in my rear, anyway? Get on! Dam’ cart-drivers! So, what, Xena?”
“What? Wha’ ya mean, Gabs?”
“I mean, what, ducks? What’s givin’ you so much of a pain in the butt now, is all? Come on, the afternoon’s gettin’ on, we’ll never reach our Inn at this rate. I got’ta lot’ta readin’ t’catch up on.”
Xena sighed with feeling, the thought residing deeply in her mind that if she valued her ongoing safety she ought never to allow another Amazon to drive her in a chariot for the remainder of her life.
“How about we park this dam’ thing an’ walk through the Agora to our Inn? I can haul the saddle-bag an’ you can do what ya can with the loose scrolls. That sounds like a plan. So, walkin’?”
But Gabrielle wasn’t in the mood to give up her newly found freedom and new hobby that easily.
“What about I just let the horses amble through the Agora? Can’t do any harm that way, can I? Everyone can easy get out’ta my way like that. Come on, hold on tight now, I’ll be drivin’ so slow you’ll see the snails in the grass overtakin’ us, I promise!”
The fact there wasn’t a single blade of grass to be seen anywhere within a radius of half a stadia did nothing to calm the Princess’s nerves, but she shrugged well-knowing a done deal when it punched her in the face.
“Oh, OK—but if anything happens there’ll be consequences, young ‘un!”
“Oo-er!”
The Agora, that wide plaza where crowds assembled every day to visit the shops all round, especially in the two-storey Stoa of Attalos, and the stands and counters set up in the open expanse of dirt covered ground, was divided into two separate sections—that to the west where some second-rate shops held sway, and the area to the east where the larger buildings, such as the Stoa, held regal majesty over passing customers. In the bit running through the middle of the Agora the ordinary wheeled traffic usually ran without incident; but that was on those days when Gabrielle wasn’t present!
“Thought ya agreed t’go slow?” The Princess seeing quickly enough her partner had reneged on her promise from the get-go. “So much fer Amazon promises! Go just one stadia a clepsydra faster, lady, an’ I’ll throw ya off this dam’ machine, believe me!”
The only reply to this threat being a curling of sensuous pink lips and a toss of silver-blonde hair Xena realised her battle was lost before it began. Gabrielle, wholly free-spirited, grinned widely and jerked her reins, making the horses go even faster, the light of mad enthusiasm in her green eyes.
“Hoi! Woman, get out’ta the way, comin’ through here!”
Gripping the side of the chariot with an iron hand the Agora, to Xena, flashed past like a bad dream—crowds of terrified faces with open mouths, crying in anger, astonishment, terror, and open fear; then dark shadows of buildings closing-in again and they were once more in the relative confines of the Pan-Athenaic Way, which did nothing to still the uncontrolled nature of the Amazon’s driving.
“This’s much better! Can see where I’m goin’ now!”
Then Nemesis struck, as She had inevitably been waiting in the wings to do all day.
A woman trailing two small children appeared directly in the path of the racing chariot, Gabrielle barely had time to pull her reins sideways, the chariot veering left on one wheel, there was a reverberating howl of terror as people jumped out of the way, as the horses ran full-tilt into an open shop front, it’s frail wooden frontage disintegrating as the full weight and impetus of the now uncontrolled vehicle met it full-on. When the dust settled there were only two horses, not much damaged thank the Gods, but snorting in anger and shock—and a wrecked chariot, wheel-less and certainly well beyond repair—but not so much as the chariot’s passenger, picking herself up from out of a disordered pile of former clothes and cloth samples that had been up to then on show, feeling to see exactly which bones had probably been broken, an evil snarl spreading across her contorted features.
“Gabrielle!”
“Oh, sh-t!”
—O—
Fifth—Visiting the Theatre
Ten days had passed, during which the Princess had to visit the Baths of Diocletian four days in a row in order to bathe in the warm pool there to ease her bruised body; ten days in which Xena had insisted on sleeping alone in another room in their Inn to punish her partner, now very deeply awash in the Doldrums with no sign of a fresh wind approaching to bring freedom anytime soon; ten days in which tempers, very much over-stressed, had quietly and slowly reverted to something like ordinary levels; ten days in which Gabrielle had been able to contemplate the difference between innocently enjoying yourself and being an unthinking meanie Blue Dryad; ten days in which she was able to mourn the loss of her chariot, her Princess partner clamping down on the possibility of a new one without mercy; ten days in which they had both paid a multitude of fines covering an astonishing variety of broken City Rules; ten days in which they finally got back to normal, more or less.
“What d’ya want to do, ya say?”
“Oh, I just thought we might go to see the latest Comedy by Menander at the Theatre of Dionysus, near the Acropolis. What d’ya say, lover?”
This spoken in the low quiet, wholly submissive tone of a naughty school-girl trying to atone for stealing another girl’s cake—Gabrielle knowing full-well what was most appropriate in the circumstances.
Xena thought about it for a short while, then gave in; probably against her better judgement, as she privately supposed.
“I’m not much fer Comedy, but alright. Only on the promise, though, you agree t’go t’the Tragedy by Sophocles bein’ put on there four days from now?”
Gabrielle, who really wasn’t one for Tragedy, sighed dutifully—buttering-up an unhappy Warrior Princess always being a long-term project.
“Oh, OK, if I must!”
And so the day dawned: going to spectate at an open air Theatre, sitting on long rows of marble benches, was not an experience for the innocent nor uninitiated; no, base cunning and pre-planning were the order of the day if anyone wanted to survive the hours-long activity in one piece, physically or mentally.
“First,” Gabrielle laying out the rules while they prepared in their Inn room that morning. “two soft cushions, if ya want your butt to survive till the afternoon. Second, drinks and food, it being a play that lasts sixteen long clepsydras in length; a gal could starve t’death in that time without sustenance, y’know—especially if the Sun shines strongly. Thirdly, pick our spot carefully; we need t’get just the right placing not too high or too low in the ranks of benches; then make sure no tall or noisy folks are sitting either in front or behind or beside us.”
“Askin’ a lot, ain’t ya?”
“Fourthly,” Gabrielle continuing as if unaware of exterior noises. “try not t’laugh in the wrong places, Miss; you’ve done that so many times before I’m scared whenever we go to a Play these days.”
“Get on with it, woman, or I’ll have grown so old an’ frail I’ll need a stick an’ a helper t’get me there an’ back!”
“Ho-ho!” Gabrielle unimpressed with the level of her partner’s attempted humor. “Fifthly, do not—I repeat, do not continually annoy me throughout the course of the Play with questions about who’s who, what’s goin’ on, an’ when the dam’ the dam’ thing’ll ever finish, like you usually do, OK?”
Xena gazed fixedly at the ceiling, a look of complete innocence making, meanwhile, no inroads whatever into the Amazon’s suspicious nature regarding this habit.
“An’ finally—”
“Thank Athena fer that!”
“Finally, I say,” Gabrielle huffing in contempt. “Go before we go there—last time you got up t’visit the local lavatory no less than eight times! Have you seen a Physician about that yet?”
“Nothing wrong with my waters, baby—get on with it. Oh, are ya finished?”
“Come on, lady, or we’ll be late!”
—O—
The ordinary routine involved in going to a Theatre, entering it, and finding the seat you particularly want are all convoluted topics needing the highest degree of intelligence to overcome successfully. First, outside the theatre the crowds awaiting entry could be trying in themselves.
“Where’d they all come from?” Xena not impressed in the slightest. “There can’t be this many people livin’ in the city, for sure!”
“Just an illusion.” Gabrielle well-used to this preliminary difficulty. “It’s ‘cause they’re all packed so close together, use your elbows. Look, here’s the entrance t’the Eastern Section—got your parchment ticket with our bench number on it?”
“Of course!”
If you wanted a particular seat on a particular bench, in a particular section, you could pre-order such by paying a clerk in advance. For this you received a metal tag on entering the Theatre embossed with the number relevant to the place you coveted inside the theatre. Xena and Gabrielle had done so, and were now the proud temporary owners of a mid-range couple of seats in the lower level of the Eastern Section near the open stage—all they had to do being to present their parchment receipt at the table of another clerk by the entrance, receive the tag and enter the theatre.
As they placed their thick cushions on the hard marble curved bench they looked around at the rapidly filling lines of other benches circling the open stage with its massive backdrop in the shape of a building’s façade with doors and windows complete.
“Popular play; think the Theatre’s goin’ t’be packed t’day.”
Xena groaned, anticipating a long day of grind and despair before the relief of leaving the place finally came round.
“Come on, put the bag of food an’ drink down, by my boots, here.” Gabrielle getting on top of the details that mattered. “Got those two Phrygian wool caps in case the Sun gets too hot?”
“Yeah, here.”
“OK,” The Amazon Queen settling herself comfortably. “doesn’t do t’get sunstroke when it can be avoided so easily, y’know. Oh, look! The chorus’s comin’ out, can’t be long now till the play starts—yippee!”
The second task associated with watching a Greek play was the concentration necessary to keep ahead of the plot, understand what the players were up to, along with the general moral purpose and setting of the piece. The fact there were ever only three actors on stage at any one time, discounting the chorus who stood to one side interjecting in song at appropriate intervals, all performers always male with their faces hidden behind large wooden masks gaudily painted to show either happiness or horror, being another difficulty in following the unravelling of the story.
The secondary tradition that all female parts were played by men in dresses, behind masks, being a further hoop the audience must jump through in order to create any level of suspension of disbelief. For Xena, unhappily, disbelief was all too clearly the standard stance of the day where mere Comedies were involved; the growing need to turn to her partner for information about what the Hades was going on and why becoming almost unbearable as the first three clepsydras of time pursued their obviously far too slow journey into the Future at a snail’s pace, as far as the Princess was concerned.
“Stop shuffling around, woman.” Gabrielle finally breaking out. “You’re so annoying that way. Park your butt an’ let it get a rest for a while, OK!”
“Sorry!”
The major feature however, in the way of distractions during a performance, were the actions of those of the audience right within your own purview; that is to say those immediately on your flanks to either side and the benches behind and above your shoulders and in front and just below you. Those to your left or right could also so easily be the sort of persons who, imbued with far too strong a belief in their own righteousness, felt it incumbent on them to spread themselves sideways, so taking up some of your own valuable sitting space—a ploy which got right up the left nostril of the Amazon Queen whenever such was attempted.
“Hey, mister! Wan’na move back some? This’s my seating space here, ya know!”
“Shush!” From above.
“Shush!” From below.
“Give over!” Gabrielle in a fighting mood, as her nature dictated. “Gim’me a break here, fer Athena’s sake!”
“Be quiet! I’m trying to listen to the play, here!” From the woman immediately below.
“Stop shuffling about, you’re distracting me!” From the man behind and above.
Glancing sideways Xena saw the first dawning gleams of a green glow in both her partner’s eyes, boding no good to almost everybody within range in the very near future, if not dealt with positively, effectively, and most importantly immediately.
“Say, Gabs, what’re they up to down there on the stage, prancin’ around like a herd o’deer at a waterin’ hole?”
“Gods, woman, can’t you follow the plot for more than three breaths at a time?” Gabrielle herself distracted from instituting a minor war there on the Theatre benches just in time. “They’re comin’ t’the climax of the plot. The woman’s lover’s just been found out by the husband an’, as you might expect, he ain’t at all pleased about it, OK?”
“Ii-iirph!”
Then, to cap all, one of the audience further along the curving line of the bench decided they must visit the Theatre lavatory down in the bowels of the building and so began that most infuriating action of struggling along the crowded bench much to everyone else’s discomfort. When it came to Gabrielle’s part in this disturbance she knew right away how she felt about such.
“What? Can ya get past? Why?”
“The lav, thanks.”
“Huh!” Gabrielle in two minds about whether to allow this unwanted distraction during the highlight of the play or not. “Oh, alright—Xena, moron comin’ through, do what ya will with her, I don’t care!”
And then finally came, not before time for some, the close of the performance and the accompanying necessity to leave the theatre in good order. There being several ways of accomplishing this; first, to leave early, thus missing the absolute climax of the play and annoying almost everybody in the audience who were close or just saw you, including the performers who usually thought you didn’t like their conduct and had chosen the worst possible time to show it. Or you could just accept Life, wait in the crowd along with everyone else, and struggle in the seething mass in an attempt to exit the theatre without being crushed in the throng. The last, and most cowardly, method being to simply sit, let Armageddon take place all round while the major part of the audience fought tooth and nail in their wild struggles to reach civilisation again, you sitting quietly amongst the rapidly dispersing Theatre audience the while until it was indeed absolutely empty and the staff were coming round clearing-up and giving you suspicious glances wondering what your motive was in staying so long.
But finally Xena and Gabrielle had made it back onto the street again after the performance, Gabrielle all excited at what she had just sat through.
“Gods! Wonderful play, wasn’t it?”
Xena, on the other hand, simply contented herself by stretching both arms and legs and groaning in relief.
“Aaaa—aarrh! That’s dam’ better!”
—O—
Sixth—Inn Life for the Attentive Warrior
The problem with staying at a popular Inn within the City precincts was the very nature of popularity itself. Some travelers like a crowd of mixed types and individuals pressing themselves and their accompanying boring personalities on you in the Public rooms at every opportunity; or the general ordinariness of the food provided; and the more or less adequate nature of the fittings, furniture and bedclothes provided—others don’t, Gabrielle being one of the most definite don’ts in this line.
“These sheets were made around the same time as the Peloponnesian War, I’m sure!”
She helping her partner to fix their bed that morning as was their usual habit, they never wanting to give the Inn maids further work than necessary when they could easily do it themselves.
“And I hope when we go down to breakfast that dam’ Berenice woman ain’t there; she’s so loud an’ pushy—makes me wan’na punch her!”
“Don’t do that, Gabs, only get us both in trouble. I don’t see anything wrong with the sheets, by the way.”
“And as to breakfast, lady!” Gabrielle already far advanced along another line of complaint. “You must’a noticed the quality of the food they serve here; or lack of same, I should say?”
“No, not really; seems perfectly acceptable t’me.”
“Well, it ain’t t’me, an’ there.”
“What’s wrong now?”
“D’ya mind not takin’ that tone jus’ because I have legitimate complaints about our present surroundings, madam? Just askin’.”
“I ain’t complainin’.”
“Well, I am!”
“Gods! What about, now?”
“The food here, ain’t you listenin’ at all?”
“Yeah-yeah.”
“The oatmeal they serve in the morning’s almost certainly tainted with dust from floor sweepings t’make it go further, I’m sure!” She getting into her stride. “The sausages at lunch’re almost certainly month old beavers, not pork like they say. And the fish pie we had yesterday for dinner! Well, I can tell you about that, for sure!”
“I know, dear.”
“What?”
“Nuthin’.”
“Anyway, the fish pie—they said it was roach an’ cod, but I ain’t never had such that tasted like that pie yesterday evenin’. No, it was scrapings from the bottom of a pickled herring amphora for sure, believe me!”
“Must I?”
“What?”
“Did I say something?”
“Anyway,” Gabrielle too much involved with her complaints to take note of criticism close to hand. “I’m goin’ t’complain t’the management, see if I don’t.”
“Now, Gabrielle,” Xena sighing in despair. “you know the trouble we had recently extending our stay another month? If ya complain, about anythin’, the Mistress’ll just tell us both t’sling our hooks an’ good riddance, an’ ya know it!”
The Amazon Queen mused over this pertinent and almost certain outcome to her suggestion, taking it from all sides, before giving-up on her own part.
“Oh, alright, I’ll give it another seven days—but no longer, hear?
“Great, just great.” Xena relieved beyond measure. “Can we go down t’breakfast now? The porage’ll be gettin’ cold.”
But the morning meal was not fated to go pleasantly; the Inn bore, a middle-aged lady by the name of Berenice, was indeed in residence at the next table to the hungry warriors.
“Hallo, do you never go anywhere without that terrible weapon on your back, dear? Must be so uncomfortable, especially sitting at a meal in company encumbered by a big sword like that. Don’t you ever feel embarrassed?”
Xena glared in response—her special glare of fury calculated to freeze the blood of the most bloodthirsty bandit in Macedonia—Berenice took no notice whatever.
“Another thing—Gabrielle, don’t you ever get fed-up camping in the wilds along with those unruly Amazons? I mean, it isn’t exactly civilised, is it?”
Xena swiftly leaned over to grasp the Amazon’s hand that held her porage spoon; the Princess all too aware that Gabrielle was entirely capable—and indeed had done so in the past—of wreaking bloody vengeance with a piece of cutlery without a second thought.
“She’s only joking, dear. You’re only joking, aren’t ya, lady?”
This last delivered with that tone which implied that the speaker meant every iota of what she said.
“Oh, if you want to put it that way.” Berenice huffing in protest, making a face meanwhile. “Hope you aren’t going to have another of your late night parties, though. Those women you had in three days ago kept me awake till the early morning, you know. So unruly and impolite, they were; don’t know how or why you tolerated them?”
It was the Princess’s turn to consider thoughts of bloody revenge, her lips narrowing, eyes glaring, and face becoming pale as the full Moon; all signs Gabrielle, by long experience, read as forerunners of violent unrestrained actions.
“Say, Xena, we’re finished here, let’s go an’ take a look at the horse pens over by the South Gate, why not. You said only yesterday we needed another pack-horse?”
Distracted so Xena slowly turned to her partner, her face regaining its normal colour as she did so, her whole frame easing from war-readiness to much nearer calm relaxation.
“Yeah-yeah, why not; good idea. Come on!”
—O—
Seventh—Back to the Horses and Chariots
The Southern Piraean Gate, where the majority of the horse-dealers had their corrals on the wide green plain, was just as busy as the first time the warriors had visited on the occasion of Gabrielle’s ill-fated need to travel on two wheels instead of a nice safe horse by itself; Xena keeping a wary eye on her partner the while just in case of a sudden reversion to previous form.
“What’re we here for, again?” The Amazon affecting innocent puzzlement, which didn’t faze Xena in the least. “Oh, yes, pack-horses. See any ya like?”
Buying a new pack-horse being the furthest thing from her mind the Princess simply cocked an eyebrow in the direction of this inane question, making a peculiar sniffing noise whilst doing so.
“No?—what about that one, over there—looks sturdy enough and, let’s see the tag, only fourteen drachma; a bargain, take it, lady.”
“I’ll do no such thing!” Xena affronted by this pushy suggestion. “Never seen a more down at heel broken-backed specimen in my life. And fourteen drachma, are ya out’ta ya mind—could buy a whole herd of animals for that. Think straight, will ya!”
“Huh!”
Further along another dealer had a small group of yearlings on show, prancing around their enclosure like little kids on an outing; Gabrielle was enthralled.
“Oh, look at those, ain’t they sweet. We could buy, oh, three at least!”
“We could not!”
“Eew, that ain’t fair!” Gabrielle fishing for something of a positive outcome to this dearly held wish of hers. “How about just one, then? Just one! Won’t do any harm, will it, and they’re so sweet.”
“Sweet’s as may-be.” The Princess taking the mature outlook without mercy. “But we don’t need it; it’d be a nuisance to feed an’ take on long journeys. Why, you’d be lookin’ for some fool t’sell it off to at the first caravanserai we came to on our first expedition, as well you know.”
Yet further across the meadow, covered in individual corrals and pens for horses, mules, asses, and ponies of all descriptions, they inevitably came to the section where the chariot dealers held sway; Gabrielle perking-up notably at the sight much to Xena’s consternation.
“You know, mighty one, buying a chariot’s almost a social necessity these days, y’know. I mean, everyone in the city goes about by chariot these days.”
“Except us.”
“Oh, come on, wan’na stay in the Dark Ages all your life?” Gabrielle trying her hardest to soften the hard heart of her adversary. “Imagine all the time it’d save going from our Inn in the Lycabettos District to various of our friends or acquaintances all over the City—ages!”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Oh, sh-t!”
“An’ that sort’a language don’t help, either.”
Gabrielle muttered something unintelligible under her breath as they continued their stroll.
“What was that, didn’t catch it.”
But Gabrielle, ever resourceful, was off on another tangent in her determination to own a wheeled vehicle.
“Look at this one, it’s got high wheels and a large driver’s platform with a knee-high barrier all round—safe as houses. Get a couple of useful horses in harness with this and you’re well away.”
“Well away to the Elysian Fields, if not the Other Place, darlin’. Remember what happened last time?”
“Will ya stop referring to that incident, thanks.” The Amazon sniffing austerely. “Wasn’t my fault, anyway. If idiot pedestrians want t’haul their entire families of little children right out in front of a passing chariot going about its lawful purposes what can ya do, I ask?”
“Lawful my ass, dear.” The Princess, on her part, taking no prisoners. “You were driving liked a crazed banshee; lucky ya didn’t take out half the population as it was. Dam’ near killed me, for sure.”
“Tosh, bosh, an’ nonsense!” Gabrielle taking none of this tomfoolery. “Anyway, important matters—this chariot here, with the red-painted sides? Now, that’s what I call a chariot. What d’you think, dear?”
“I think we should both go home and lie down in a darkened room for several hours, is what I think: you especially, if not me.”
“Lady, you can be such a drag sometimes.” All the hard centre of her personality coming to the fore in the hard-pressed Amazon. “What’d ya say if I said I was goin’ t’buy a bloody chariot come what may, against all criticism, wails of protest, or orders to the negative transpiring as they may?”
Xena stood firm, calm and sure, not to be moved easily, like the Colossus of Rhodes.
“I’d just say no, an’ that no’d stand for all eternity, ducks—an’ it dam’ well does.”
Gabrielle, sighing with the mounting strain, tried one last time.
“Look there, a chariot a child could drive! It’s got a little wheel at the back to stabilise the dam’ thing; a toddler could drive a quadriga of steeds in front of this with ease an’ grace. How about I buy it? Couldn’t possibly do any harm, to anybody!”
The Princess, sure of her position, held firm.
“It’s not the horses I’m worried about; it’s not the chariot, horrible thing as it is, I’m worried about; it’s not you I’m worried about; it’s the multitude of innocent citizens who get in your way, as they inevitably will, I’m dam’ worried about: you drive a chariot, anywhere, for any reason, from any excuse whatever, over my dead body, gal!”
Gabrielle stood back, considering her partner with a strange expression; the which, Xena suddenly realised, could be construed as the Amazon actually pondering the ins and outs of just such a situation.
“Don’t ya dam’ well dare! Hear me, Missy?”
“What? Did I say anything? Can’t a gal think thoughts to herself anymore?”
“Not those thoughts, dam’ it.”
“It’s just you push a gal to the very edge sometimes, is all.”
“As long as the edge doesn’t include driving a chariot, any kind or form of chariot, anywhere for any reason, I’ll be thankful, OK?”
“Sh-t!”
“Language!”
Gabrielle, driven to extremities, muttered silently; obviously articulating noiselessly a number of things best left in the echoing chambers of Silence—but Xena, with all her perfectly honed senses, heard them anyway.
“What did ya just say, about me, my dear?”
“Nuthin’ useful, dearest; come on, I’m fed-up with these animals an’ everything, if chariots’ are the lost cause they sadly seem t’be, for the time bein’ anyway; wan’na go to Deirdre’s eatin’-shop for a plate of her delicious vegetable soup, lunchtime’s beckoning, y’know?”
“Alright, I do feel a little peckish, as it is.”
“Great—vegetable soup, like I said?”
“Nah, I prefer her beef broth.”
“Humph, nuthin’ t’that, her pea soup’s much better—take her pea soup, dear.”
“I’ll take what I want, thank you very much, not what you want. You can binge till you blow on vegetable soup for all I care, youngster.”
But the Amazon was up for the appropriate repartee to this.
“Talkin’ of blowin’, you know what effect eatin’ that lump of stale rye bread with your soup had on your bowels the last time, don’t ya? Ya had to spend the best part of three long clepsydras in the bushes as a result, heh-heh!”
The Princess was appalled by this cutting personal reference.
“Does it look like I’m laughin’, lady?”
“Nah, but I certainly am! Remember—”
“No, I don’t!” Xena laying down the rules of the conversation with emphasis. “Let’s change the dam’ subject—what about the supplies for our leaving the city in a couple of days time? Ya got everything listed we need?”
“Of course, you know you can rely on me there.” Gabrielle sniffing inconsequentially the while. “If anyone can organise an expedition it’s me!”
Xena, in her turn, had an appropriate reply to this stunning example of self-absorption.
“Oh, remember the time you let us go off on that journey in’ta the Hills without eggs or bacon, an’ we had t’subsist on my fried fish for more’n seven days? Ya didn’t come through that smellin’ of roses as I recall!”
Gabrielle snorted, colouring a fetching shade of light pink the while.
“I’m allergic to some kinds of fish. That physician told us so when I consulted him, remember?”
“Yeah, suppose. Are we goin’ t’Deirdre’s or not, then?”
“Of course, an’ you can have whatever takes your fancy, OK?”
“Thank you so much, lover.”
—O—
Eighth—Eating Out with Poise and Refinement
The trouble with sitting in an eating-shop is the wide variety of wares available to the hungry diner, as Xena found out to her cost when Gabrielle sat at the table alongside her; the Amazon beckoning for the servant with all the authority of a Queen on her throne overseeing a luscious banquet.
“Hi, gal, what’s on the menu t’day, thanks?”
“Vegetable soup, meat soup, broths, stews, steaks, salads, fish, fish an’ rice mixed, spicy messes, clear soup—”
“Clear soup?” The Princess intrigued, against her better judgment. “What’s that?”
The servant looked round cautiously to see if any of the higher ranking staff were within earshot.
“Plain boiled water, we talk about vegetables or meat as it’s boiling so it hears us, then serve it up to the customer as is. Remarkably popular with some customers, I assure you; want some?”
“Nah, thanks.” The Princess mystified by this arcane habit or taste.
“Vegetable soup for me; the dark lady’ll take minestrone.”
“The dark lady’ll do no such thing, thanks.” Xena jumping in before the order could be officially set. “—er, beef broth fer me, OK?”
“Whatever you require, madam.”
The servant went off to see about the order and the warriors settled to their favourite hobby of making-up deleterious characters for the other diners all round.
“Look at that fa—er, well-built lady over there?” Gabrielle letting her critical nature have full sway. “Looks like she could do with missin’ a few meals rather than orderin’ a four-course banquet like it seems she’s done.”
“Gabrielle, have you no shame?”
“No, not really.” The Amazon completely unashamed of her attitude. “They can’t hear us, no harm done! See that man? A whole amphora of wine beside him; he’ll need t’be carried out when he’s finished for sure.”
Xena looked round guiltily, hoping it was true no-one could hear them; but the multitude of other diners talking quietly between themselves had generated enough noise to make a major battle seem more like a children’s party than not.
“Can hardly hear myself think, as it is. Does everyone have to talk so loud?”
“They’re all speakin’ quietly, like us.” Gabrielle lecturing her partner on the esoteric nature of Sound as a physical attribute. “It’s only the quantity, the close nature of everyone’s talkin’, that makes it sound loud. See, I’m not shoutin’, an’ you can hear me perfectly well.”
“Wish I couldn’t.”
“What was that, baby?”
“Oh, didn’t ya hear me, thank the Gods! I mean, take no note, nuthin’ of interest—oh, here comes our soup; dig in lady, but try not to be such a messy eater as usual, OK?”
This quip from her dearest and nearest, though an old joke by now stale as month old bread, still had the verve and tenacity to rile the Amazon right down to her boot heels, and it did so on this occasion too.
“Will ya give over, lady?” The Amazon miffed beyond measure. “I hear that so-called witticism one more time I’ll get mad an’ do somethin’ I’ll probably be proud of for the rest of my life, be warned!”
“Oo-er!”
But something else had caught the Amazon’s eye.
“See that young woman in the corner? No, don’t look so obviously, she’ll see you! She’s tryin’ t’put some bread an’ cakes unobtrusively in that pouch by her side. Think she means t’take it home, probably to her children. Must be down on her luck, poor gal. Look, see the bundle of material at her feet? She’s a seamstress; how about we catch her outside an’ give her some money to, oh I don’t know, ostensibly repair some of our old clothes? Works for me!”
Xena glanced in the direction indicated, taking expert note in every detail of the person under discussion though only with the one brief glimpse.
“Yeah, it’s likely—OK, just make sure we don’t lose her when she goes out.”
“Lady, I’m an Amazon, I can track anyone through a mighty forest; don’t think I’ll lose someone in the streets of Athens, thanks all the same.”
“Oh, ain’t ya the sure one?”
“Yeah, I am!”
“Uumph!” Xena lost for words, even though she knew what her partner implied was indeed the simple truth.
“Want a second course?”
“What?”
“More! Want more food?”
“Nah, why? Ya starvin’ or what?”
“Just askin’s all, don’t get het-up.”
“Come on, let’s get out’ta this; we’ll wait for that gal outside. You can spend the time criticising the pedestrians goin’ by; cheer you up no end, I bet!”
“Very funny.”
—O—
Ninth—Fun and Games at Camp
The campsite in the hills, two days later, was all a perfectly organised campsite ought to be, except for one or two items.
“Ya didn’t bring any salt?” Xena shaking her head in disgust. “That’ll have an effect on my fish stews, y’know.”
“Got the answer to that, dearest.” Gabrielle smiling broadly, undeterred. “We don’t eat your dam’ fish stews!”
“Ha-ha! Might take ya up on that. I’ll fish fer myself, an’ you can go an’ hunt rabbits t’your heart’s content. Bet ya get one rabbit fer every twenty fish I get!”
“Probably the other way round; you might be surprised!” Gabrielle not put out at all, raising her chin in the air with calm and pure virtue. “Where’s the sword-sharpenin’ stone, I need it for my sai?”
“Oh, Gods!”
“Great, ya forgot it again?” Gabrielle getting her own back with emphasis. “Well, we ain’t goin’ back for it, like we did the last time, losing three whole days in doin’ so. We’ll just have to face whatever brigands and thieves we meet with blunt weapons—let it be on your shoulders, Princess!”
“Not my fault,” Xena grumbling under her breath. “you should’a checked before we left.”
“What’d you say, lady?”
“Nuthin’ of import.” The Princess going into defence mode with an alacrity gained from long experience. “At least we’ve got that nice thick warm blanket that woman re-sewed for us.”
Gabrielle, in the middle of tinkering with her sai, paused to blush becomingly—Xena noticed right off.
“Ya didn’t bring the dam’ thing, did ya?”
“Well, I might have—”
“Forgotten it? Yeah, sure. We paid the woman five drachma to sew it, too. Five drachma!”
“Think of it as money well spent.” Gabrielle grasping at straws.
“Har!” The Princess not at all pleased, losing money being one of her pet hates. “What else might ya have forgotten, may I humbly ask?”
Riled so all the way down to her toes the Amazon retaliated with gusto.
“What we ain’t got, intentionally on your part, is another pack-horse! What did I say, days gone by, about our need to buy another pack-horse without fail? An’ what did you say in reply? An’ what’s the end result now? We’ve had to leave half our gear behind, in order to get on with the two poor hosses we have!”
“That’s a feeble excuse fer forgettin’ things left, right, an’ centre, gal!” Xena having none of this. “I say—”
But what she was about to say was never said because, out of the surrounding undergrowth as if by magic, five shabbily dressed and utterly filthy brigands, thieves, and no-goods materialised like wraiths on a dark night.
“Well hallo, gals.” The scruffy leader pausing to leer disgustingly at his gang’s prey. “Buckles off, if ya pleases, we’re about t’have some fun; eh, boys?”
Fifteen breaths later, and the hurried flight away of a nearby astonished magpie out of the danger area, and all was over except for the bleeding and weakening cries of despair as the few dying thugs left over, those who hadn’t already hurriedly and unexpectedly met Hades on a personal level they had never anticipated, took that last journey of all. Then silence.
“All done?”
“Yeah, good job I got that piece o’sh-t with my sai or you’d have been done for sure, lady.”
Xena shrugged this possibility off with a growl of dissent.
“I can look after myself, thanks. But I got that pervert who was about t’skewer you with my chakram, didn’t I?”
“My sai was in his belly up t’the hilt before your chakram was anywhere near his throat, don’t embarrass yourself, madam.” Gabrielle assured of her own competence. “Anyway, why’d ya take his dam’ head off right beside me? Look, I’m covered in blood from head t’toe—I’ll need t’take a bathe in the river for the next two clepsydras to get clean again. What’ll we do with the remains?”
“What we always do, pile them in a heap out’ta sight an’ smell, carry on as usual an’ let the wolves have fun when we up-camp an’ leave.”
“Yeah, suppose. There are some eggs and bacon in the saddle-bag on the second pack-horse, by the way.”
“Oh, that’s alright, I mean t’do some fishin’ later, after you’ve had your bathe, if ya don’t scare all the fish away, anyway. Keep the eggs an’ bacon for yourself, you still bein’ a growin’ woman, an’ all.”
“Very funny, my beauty!”
The End.
—O—