The Road
To Doriscus
Part 3
by Dani Sheldon
Disclaimer, warnings, etc.: see part 1
The
fact that the Bard did not have a parchment or quill to write down a tale had
never slowed down her productive imagination. What did slow down her
imagination that day was her frustration at attempting to weave prose about
their mostly dull, uniform surroundings of still dormant trees and brush under
a gray sky. Her restless eyes eventually focused on one of her favorite story
subjects who ranged just a few steps ahead.
The
warrior looked particularly fearsome with her armor and the added bulk of her
black furry cloak. Her long dark mane, lapis eyes, and prominent cheekbones,
made her seem more Goddess than human. Gabrielle felt a tale begin to foment
from this visualization and that made her smile.
Xena
stopped abruptly, motioning sharply with one hand at the Bard. Gabrielle,
creativity abandoned for reality, froze and remained completely silent, trying
to hone in on whatever had alerted her preternaturally observant companion. She
could only make out the call of a distant bird, but the hairs at the nape of
her neck began tingling. The Bard placed her stave at the ready, gripping it
solidly in both hands.
“There’s
a rider coming up on us from behind.” Xena glanced back with concern. “Let’s
find some cover.”
Gabrielle
followed the warrior quickly off the path and through the sparse brush. The
lack of leaves made it harder to find concealment, but fortunately a few trees
were large enough to hide behind. Xena drew her sword as they silently crouched
beside one another.
Gabrielle
focused on the trail and eventually heard the sound of hooves and the jangle of
the horse’s harness, as it got closer.
They
watched intently as a horse and rider came into view on the path. The animal
was of a rare breed in Greece, a large golden brown enormous footed beast, with
blond mane and tail, and a white blaze between his eyes, zigzagging down to his
nose. The rider was a medium sized man of dark brown complexion, with a head as
smooth and shiny as any acolytes. A black mustache, streaked with gray, drooped
over his upper lip. He sat on his horse with ease; reins gripped casually in
his left hand, and he carried a short Hoplite sword strapped to his right side.
Where his right arm should have been, his rough fur lined cloak was rolled up
and pinned over a short stump
Xena
stood, sheathing her sword, and muttered. “By all the fates...”
Gabrielle,
still crouched, looked up at her as if she were mad and hissed. “What are you
doing?”
“Adwen!!”
the warrior yelled and plunged from the shelter of the trees.
The
Bard uttered an expletive under her breath and followed.
The
dark skinned man sharply reined his horse, causing the animal to charge
sideways, well past them. He turned the large beast with considerable effort.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his brow furrowing.
“Xena,”
she answered, striding towards him with a smile.
He
urged his horse closer and rumbled. “Then you are a wraith because everyone
knows that she was crucified by Caesar himself.”
“How
could an upstart like Caesar ever best me?” Xena asked, laughing arrogantly.
“You
look like her, by the Gods and you certainly act like her too!” he exclaimed.
“It
is me.”
He
chewed at his graying mustache. “Then the rumors are true?” he asked with a
note of wonder.
“If
the rumor is that we live,” she replied with a grin, glancing at Gabrielle.
Gabrielle
raised an inquisitive eyebrow, imitating the warrior’s famous expression.
Adwen
hesitated only a moment before he leapt from his horse and clasped her arm, his
hand still tangled in the horse’s reins. Xena pulled him into a brief embrace,
gave him a good rib-bowing squeeze and then stepped away.
“This
is Gabrielle of Poteidaia,” Xena said with a grin. She gestured to her
companion.
“It’s
nice to meet you.” The Bard took his hand, meeting his curious gaze.
“A
pleasure indeed,” Adwen said with a wide warm smile. “I’ve heard many of your
magnificent tales. My only sorrow is that I haven’t heard one of them told by
you.”
“Maybe
you’ll get your chance,” Gabrielle answered. The Bard could not place his
accent, but knew she’d heard it somewhere before.
“I
certainly hope so,” he replied with enthusiasm.
Adwen
gave her hand a squeeze and let go, then looked at Xena with a twinkle in his
eye. “You always had an eye for the beautiful ones, didn’t you?”
The
warrior shrugged, but couldn’t hide her smug expression.
“Sweet
Artemis,” Gabrielle muttered with a scowl, wondering how many beautiful ones
Xena had an eye for back then.
The
warrior gave the Bard a sharp look, and got an even sharper one back.
Adwen
guffawed. “This chance meeting calls for some refreshment.” He led his large
steed over to a stunted tree, wrapped the reins around a branch, and pulled a
small amphora from the gear on the saddle.
“I
was saving this for a special occasion.” He deftly held it between his knees to
pull the stopper, breaking the wax seal, and then lifting it in a salute. “To
old friends well met,” he said.
He
took a drink and passed the ceramic flask to Xena.
She
took a deep swig of the wine and exclaimed. “To old friends, some of them much
older than the rest of us.” The warrior grinned rakishly at him.
“Not
by much,” he retorted good-naturedly.
Gabrielle
laughed as Xena passed her the ceramic flask. She took a polite swallow before
passing it back to Adwen.
He
gave them both a good once over. “You both look as lean as wolves,” he
commented.
Gabrielle
and Xena looked at each other, then at Adwen. “We’ve had quite a journey,” Gabrielle replied.
Adwen
looked at her with thoughtful brown eyes. “If there’s any truth in what I’ve
heard, I can’t imagine the road you two have traveled,” he said with regret.
Xena
and the Bard’s eyes met in a raw, silent communion.
Adwen
felt uncomfortable witnessing the painful moment that passed between them and
turned his eyes away.
“Better
you don’t imagine it,” the warrior answered as she reluctantly turned her
attention from Gabrielle.
A
soft snuffling came from the large horse tethered nearby, hopefully searching
the barren ground around the tree for fodder.
“What’s
your horse’s name?” the Bard asked, steering the conversation to something far
less treacherous.
“Cethren.”
Adwen glanced proudly at the beast. “I got him in Germania from a farmer who
couldn’t afford to feed him any longer,” he stated.
“What
a behemoth,” Xena marveled. “I bet you’re hard pressed to keep him fed too.”
He
laughed. “I am indeed.”
Gabrielle
finally gave into her curiosity. “How is it you two know each other?” she
asked.
“I
designed and constructed gastraphetes, catapults, towers, rams, earthen ramps
and whatever else Xena the Conqueror, directed me to,” Adwen replied.
“He
was my battlefield engineer,” Xena added, slightly uncomfortable that he’d used
her old appellation.
“An
easy job it was not!” Adwen exclaimed. “No sooner did we have everything built,
than Xena would gallop up, bark some orders, and we’d have to tear it all down
and move it some place else.”
“Kept
you all too busy to get in any trouble, didn’t I,” Xena drawled.
“Wait
a minute...” Gabrielle interjected. “Gastraphete? What’s that?”
“A
large bow, mounted horizontally on a stand, that’s drawn with a winch, like an
arbalest,” Adwen explained, absently rubbing his smooth head. “You can
accurately fire large arrows, small stones and such at your enemies from a
great distance with the touch of a trigger.”
At
her continued blank look, he passed the wine to Xena, dropped to one
knee, and began drawing a picture in the dirt. “Let me show you.”
The Bard, always eager to learn, knelt beside him.
His sketch began to take on more detail as he explained the purpose of all the
parts that he drew.
The
warrior endured as much siege engine minutiae she could stand. “Adwen, I think
Gabrielle gets the picture,” she barked.
“Thanks,
it is much clearer to me,” the Bard replied and stood, smirking at Xena’s
evident irritation. Gabrielle also figured out Adwen’s accent while he spoke.
The only other place that she’d ever heard it was Britannia, not exactly a
place with pleasant memories for her.
“You
haven’t said a word about what you’ve been up to all these years,” the warrior
prodded Adwen.
He
stood with a one handed swipe at the dirt on his knees. “If I start with the
battle field where I saw you last, we’d be here a month.” Adwen smiled. “Right
now I am returning home from my daughter’s wedding.”
“Daughter?”
Xena sounded surprised.
“Yes,
believe it or not,” the former engineer added in a much more subdued tone. “Her
mother, my wife… died several years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” the Bard said compassionately,
He
sighed, obviously still very much in pain. “As am I.”
Cethren,
growing restless, pawed the ground.
“This
really isn’t the time or the place to reminisce,” Adwen stated almost
brusquely.
“You’re
right,” Xena agreed. “We need to keep moving.”
“You
could reach my home by nightfall and I would be very disappointed if you didn’t
accept my hospitality.” Adwen managed a smile as he looked at Xena, who in turn
looked at Gabrielle.
The
road weary bard brightened and that was all Xena needed to see.
“We’d
be honored to be your guests,” she replied.
xxxxxxx
“Now
you’re sure you can find it from here?” Adwen asked yet again, pointing to the
drawing on the ground of a detailed map.
“No
problem,” Xena reassured him, remembering now how his meticulous planning
during battles had nearly driven her mad.
“Will
you be safe?” he asked worriedly. ”It’ll be more pleasant if I ride ahead and
make some preparations,” he explained.
“We’ve
been journeying, just Gabrielle and I, for years,” Xena said, sounding as if
her patience were fraying. “Go on ahead, we’ll be there by nightfall.”
“I
can hardly wait,” Gabrielle said, “I’ve been dreaming of a hot bath for days.”
Xena
crouched to growl in his ear. “And I’ve been dreaming for days of her in a hot
bath, get the picture?”
“I
do,” he said and stood with a wink. Adwen was amazed that Xena no longer seemed
to be even close to the rapacious warlord that he had once known.
Adwen
mounted his eagerly prancing horse that seemed to sense that they were close to
home.
“Hermes
feet my friends,” he said with a nod and clicked his tongue a few times.
Cethren immediately broke into a trot and headed down the road.
Xena
and Gabrielle followed at a brisk walk, but the horse and rider quickly
out-distanced them and, in a short time, disappeared around a bend.
“There’s
a goodness about him that somehow reminds me of Eli,” the Bard said, glancing
at Xena.
The
warrior nodded.
After
a few minutes of silent trudging, Gabrielle asked. “Do you know how he lost his
arm?”
“I
was there,” Xena replied with regret.
The
Bard remained silent, knowing eventually the warrior would tell her what
happened.
“We
were besieging Sicyon, near Corinth. A catapult wouldn’t trigger and he
foolishly tried to fix it without disabling it first,” Xena said gravely. “When
it fired, the torsion from the ropes took it off right here,” Xena looked at
Gabrielle while touching her right arm at about mid-bicep. “He’s lucky he
lived, though for a long while he wished he hadn’t.”
Gabrielle
looked back up the road and shook her head. “War’s a terrible thing.”
“Yes,
it is,” Xena replied with no small measure of guilt.
xxxxxxx
It
had started with just a few intermittent drops of rain, but soon switched to a
steady down pour. Within no time at all, Bard and Warrior were both soaked to
the skin, miserable and short-tempered.
“I
thought it was just beyond this ridge,” Gabrielle stated, leaning on her staff.
Xena
slicked back her waterlogged bangs. “You didn’t listen,” she snapped, “I said
it was on the next ridge.”
“Xena
I’m cold and tired and I know you must be too,” the Bard said firmly as she
plucked at her cloak which seemed to weigh more than her now and offered almost
no warmth at all. “But there’s no need to take that out on me.”
Xena
stopped and closed her eyes in shame for a moment, certain that she didn’t
deserve someone as true and as noble as Gabrielle.
“Come
here,” Xena said, her hand outstretched.
The
tactile Bard grabbed it and the warrior drug her under a tree that offered at
least a little shelter from the rain. Xena wrapped her taller, warmer frame
around the Bard and kissed her blond head. “I’m such a lout,” she said sadly.
“Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
“No,
I just concentrate on those rare times when you’re not a lout,” Gabrielle
replied.
“Rare?”
Xena asked in a low whisper right next to the Bard’s ear.
Gabrielle
found that delightful enough to nearly forget their wet misery. “Do you prefer
the term infrequent?”
“I
know something that’s been far too infrequent lately,” the warrior growled.
“What
could that be?” the Bard asked with a sly smile.
Xena
gave her a slow languorous kiss. “Better to show you.”
“You’re
right,” Gabrielle said and retaliated so well that it raised their respective
temperatures several degrees.
“We’d
better get to where were going, so we can finish what we just started,” the
warrior stated when they broke apart. They studied one another with affection
until Xena added with a laugh. “You look like a wet cat.”
“What?”
Gabrielle asked with mock outrage and pulled away.
“You
do, you really do.” Xena was helplessly giggling as rainwater dripped off her
head.
“At
least I don’t smell like an old wet bear,” Gabrielle exclaimed, pointing at
Xena’s sodden black cloak.
The
warrior laughed even harder. “I don’t…” She tried again, “I don’t smell like
a…” But she couldn’t seem to get the
words out through her laughter.
“Oh
yes you do,” Gabrielle assured her, breaking into her own fit of laughter.
When
one of them had just about recovered, the other would set them off into
hysterics again. It was a while before Xena laughed herself out and sniffed
while wiping away tears. “I guess I needed that.”
Gabrielle
giggled.
“Oh
no you don’t,” Xena said sternly, “You are not getting me started again.”
“I’m
trying not to,” Gabrielle said as seriously as she could. “Are you ready to go,
old wet bear?”
“Yes,
I am,” Xena, answered with as much dignity as she could muster under the
circumstances.
xxxxxxx
It
was just starting to get dark.
“I
see the lights,” Xena said, peering through the rain into the distance.
“Good,
I don’t think I can go any further today,” Gabrielle replied, sounding plain
exhausted.
They
came upon a neat stone fence, about waist high, that stretched off either
direction into the dusk. “Here it is, finally,” Xena said with satisfaction as
she vaulted over it.
“Hand
me your pack,” the warrior ordered.
“But…”
Gabrielle began.
“No
buts, give it here,” she demanded.
The
Bard unburdened herself and passed her pack over the wall to Xena. She took a
moment to stretch her back and groan.
“Hot
ba-ath, foo-ood,” Xena said in a singsong voice.
“All
right already,” Gabrielle replied crossly. She accepted Xena’s outstretched
hand and let herself be mostly pulled up and over the fence.
A
cow lowed from somewhere ahead of them.
Gabrielle
reached for her pack, but Xena slung it over her shoulder. “I’ve got it, give
your back a rest,” she said.
“What
about your back?” the Bard asked concerned.
Xena
started walking. “C’mon we’re almost there,” she said over her shoulder.
The
white stone house, warm light spilling out like a beacon with Adwen anxiously
waiting for them on the porch, was one of the most welcome sights Gabrielle
could recall in recent memory.
“You
made it!” he yelled, beaming at them,
rushing down to help Xena with their things.
xxxxxxx