Gabrielle's Daily Grind

by Phineas Redux

Gabrielle describes in minute detail, in a scroll to a friend, the daily format of a typical week in Xena's life.

'Gabrielle's Daily Grind'

By

Phineas Redux

—O—

Description:— Gabrielle describes in minute detail, in a scroll to a friend, the daily format of a typical week in Xena's life.

Note:— The theme of this story is lifted unashamedly from 'The Spectator', No.323, 1712, by Joseph Addison.

Disclaimer:— MCA/Universal/RenPics, or somebody, own all copyrights to everything related to 'Xena: Warrior Princess' and I have no rights to them, dam' it.

—O—

Dearest Amara, greetings from somewhere deep in Boeotia, Olympus alone knows exactly where—but that's Xena's sense of direction for you. The Lady of Serene Happiness having gone off to fish a nearby stream, I find myself at a loose end, and so thought of you, dear heart. We appear to be between warlords at the moment, my friend, so the Mighty One has decided to proclaim a holiday; here in this lightly wooded series of foothills, sparsely covered with bushes, tinkling streams, bosky copses, and sundry ill-natured footpads lurking behind trees—but we know how to deal with them, don't we?

Having a still unbroken pot of ink in my supplies, and quills to match, allied with my remaining sheet of parchment which the Lordly Princess has not yet torn too many pieces off, I find I am imbued with the need to send you the history of our daily lives over the last seven days—or, at least, the daily scheme of one determined Lady of Quality's manner of filling her day; so here goes, and be it on your own head, Amara, for having nothing better to do yourself than to read this drivel—

The Sun's Day, night— Couldn't sleep for thinking about what to write to you, dear Amara; though the Unconquered One's hopeless snoring may have had something to do with this. Memo, try putting my hand over her mouth and nose next time, when in the throes, and see what happens?

The Moon's Day, morning, first light of day— boiled some water in our small iron pan, drank a mug of rose petal and thyme brew, then fell asleep again.

Half a clepsydra later— awoken once more by the plaintive cries of a lonely warrior woman begging for sustenance—Dear Hephaestus, how unhandy can a warrior be? So I struggled out'ta my warm bed of blankets and set-to. Me—one slice of bacon and a small boiled egg. Her—four rashers, three eggs, a full pot of my rose and thyme infusion, followed by a mighty belch. Gods, she has no manners whatever.

A couple of clepsydra's later, morning has struggled to life— spent some time going through my saddle-bags, hunting for something stylish to wear for the day—the Enlightened One's suggestion that, as we were alone in the wilderness more or less, I needn't wear anythin' for the day if it were up to her, I met with the contempt it deserved. She turned away with a shrug, but I think I noticed a small smirk on her dark features, nonetheless—Gods, Warrior Women you love with all your heart, what's t'be done with them, I ask you, Amara,—they're such a strain, sometimes.

Anyway, I returned to my boudoir, as the Gauls say, and selected a nice skirt of red leather strips, ignoring Her Majesty's remark—'Nice an' short, wonderful pins.'—with the disdain it deserved. When I put my selected light top-halter on—my Superior in Everything taking a great interest in every smallest maneouvre of my doing so, and my askin' how she liked it, I disregarded her answer—'Love it, doll. Shows a lot'ta what ya got a lot'ta."—with a self-righteous though, I admit, complacent sneer.

A quarter of a clepsydra later,— Turning out my soft leather pouch, where I keep my tools of necessity, found my tortoiseshell comb had a tooth missing and a long black hair clinging to the others. Faced with this disgraceful commandeering of someone else's beauty implements, the Defendant on the Areopagus shrugged off-handedly and expressed, somewhat blithely, her opinion it obviously must'a been the squirrels. Snarled like a tiger in reply to this inanity, baring my whiter than whites in the direction of the culprit; who stepped back a pace in alarm, as who wouldn't, then grinned broadly, making a self-pitying face, and pouting like a young schoolgirl—which, I have to admit, she very often resembles.

Nearing mid-day,— The Exalted One supposes it's not too late to investigate a nearby boulder-strewn stream for trout—always thinkin' of her belly. Succumbing to a fit of sudden madness, said I'd accompany her. Well, it was bouldery, rocky, uncomfortable, the sun shone in my eyes, and the water didn't look deep enough t'sustain a tadpole—but Fisher-Lady was ecstatic; and so the long day lengthened. And if you have no idea of how long a day can actually be, when sitting on a sharp rock watching someone fish for hours, well, I'm here t'tell you, Amara, it's bloody torture. But what can one do when one's Loved One is happy?

Past mid-day, and nearing evening,— Ah Gods, back at camp at last. I chose not to sit on my saddle, which we generally use as seats in camp—my butt being in a state of delicacy after several hours on a sharp-edged granite boulder. My Consort, however, looked on the whole dreary expedition as a great triumph—three trout, you see. Gods, whatever keeps her happy, I suppose. At least we've got supper.

Evening, late with stars in the depths of the purple sky,— The Great Scourge of the Misbegotten and the Nasty decided to add a drop of Scythian white wine, from a small clay amphora we'd bought in the last town we'd visited, to her supper dandelion and hedge-blossom potion. The deed was done before I could warn her of the well-known consequences of such,—idiot. So now she's half-sea's over an' determined t'sing every bawdy song she's ever learned, at the top of her voice. I'm certain the Macedonians can hear; and we're, as I said earlier, in Boeotia. The things I have to put up with; Gods, who'd be a warrior woman's sidekick? I suppose you have t'love them dearly from the bottom of your heart,—or something.

Tyr's Day dawns, and wouldn't you know it, battle commences,— So we clambered out'ta our warm blankets; some more gracefully than others, Amara. Ate our breakfasts; some like ladies, and not ravening hyena's. Then broke camp, loaded our two anonymous baggage-ponies, whom no-one ever cares much about, and set off on the next leg of our holiday tramp. 'Where're we goin' now?', from me, replied to by the Expedition-Leader with a light laugh as 'Wherever an' whatever's over the next hill-crest', not filling me with confidence, I rode at her side and expressed discontent. 'Will ya just pipe down, an' enjoy yourself?' the Captain of All She Surveys replied, in a snide manner. 'What's Life, if there ain't any surprises?' My making the logical, and widely held, assumption that surprises were hardly ever comforting or reliable things, the Knower of All That is Right merely sniffed austerely and rode faster towards the rising skyline; lightly covered, indeed swathed, by a particularly nasty type of close-growing fir tree. By the time we'd ploughed through this forest—though Her Highness only growled that it wasn't more'n half a stadia wide, so why in Hades was I complainin',—we'd lost that benign, happy, easy-going camaraderie (as the Gauls insist on sayin') and general aura of helping a dear friend out in every eventuality—in short, we were snapping and snarling at each other like a couple of Pyraeus fishwives—You-Know-Who gettin' under your skin like that, sometimes, no matter how hard you try, Amara. However, this delightful loving intercourse or conversation was cut short; cut off in its prime; brought to a sudden conclusion, by my looking into the far distance across the gently sloping far side of the ridge—and seeing a large brigand camp on the wide grassy plain now in view, maybe only six stadia away.

You know what happened then, don't you, Amara? Yep, the Idiot to Whom I've Given my Heart, Gods alone know why, drew her sword, gave an ear-splitting scream—you know the drill—and with a quick grin of encouragement towards me, rode Hades for leather right at 'em,—what an imbecilic woman. Well, suffice t'say, it all panned out as per usual. Brigands knocked flying in every direction; hoodlums battered to a pulp without mercy; thieves having their jaws broken with grace and efficiency; groups of ne'er-do-wells thrown asunder as if Thor had sent lightning-bolts against them—oh, and She of Whom everyone Goes in Fear didn't do too badly either. And so another day drew to its conclusion.

Woden's Day dawns, bright and cheerful,— 'Aowch, will ya go easy, gal. That dam' hurts.' This from the lightly wounded Brigand-Beater of Renown. 'Can it, woman.' From me, haughty as a Lady with a new tiara. 'If you wouldn't ride wholesale an' madly in'ta overwhelming odds, this wouldn't have happened, as you well know. Good job I was there t'save your sorry ass.' Forbearing to answer what she obviously regarded as libelous slander my All-Encompassing Love pursed her red luscious lips, shook her head, making her long black locks shimmer becomingly, and snorted like a warthog—she always being able, as you've witnessed on many occasions yourself Amara, to break a romantic dream asunder without mercy. Anyway, I got my own back by sticking my needle perhaps that iota too far into her soft upper arm, eliciting another indignant cry—Gods, how I love it when She's at my mercy. I made up for it, though, by lightly kissing the slight graze she'd suffered; which seemed to satisfy Her, judging from her expression.

Afternoon, dozing happily— New camp, new lightly wooded copse, new trout-filled stream—Gods, are there any other kind anywhere on our journeys? Rested peacefully, in the shade of a large elm; my Partner of Life a hand's length away. Dreamed that Xena lay at my feet, and called me 'inamorata'. (blushed deeply on re-reading this, Amara; but we're friends, so I've left it in—but for all the Gods' sakes never tell her).

Later that evening, just outside camp— Xena took me through the copse of white ash trees, over a shallow tinkling stream, and round a corner masked by bushes. On the other side found we were on the top of a high ridge, with a wonderful view across country for a parasang or more. The valley spread out before us was thickly wooded and glowing in a light blue haze. The opposite, distant, ridge much like our own, sloping and tree-covered. There seemed to be a line of high foothills blocking the view to our left, where we had come from; while on our right-hand the valley opened out into a wide plain, with signs of a small town in the far misty distance.

"Looks like we've nearly reached our goal, darlin'. Not long now."

She of Whom I Know No Other Love smiled gently, as we enjoyed the beautiful view together, clasping my hand in a way she has which always makes me feel so wanted

"Wonderful break we've had; mind you, wonder if there's time fer one more round o'fishin'?"

I replied 'Humph', and settled down where I was to enjoy the view at my leisure. She shrugged, smiling quietly all the same, then sat down beside me; making herself comfortable, in a very exaggerated manner, on the short turf. 'Comfy, at last, are we', somewhat sarcastically from me. "Yep, it'll do. Great view, ain't it? Glad I found it fer ya; know ya like these sort'a things. It's funny, though—"

You know how the Great Communicator (Har-Har) can draw her listener into converse with subtle fluency when she chooses? Well, this was one of those times. Xena, having been absent all day fishing, now sat at my side and kept me company without further complaint. She talked with interest and understanding of a philosopher we had met in the last town we'd visited, of whom I thought she'd taken no especial note. She discussed Eleonora of Thrace, whom we'd worked with a couple of months ago; telling me things about her that surprised and delighted me—I thinking I knew everything of import to do with the great lady already. Xena is full of unexpected depths that way, Amara, once you get to really know her. Then she spoke, from memory, several lines from a reading of Sappho's poems we'd both gone to in a large city all of half a year earlier; and here was me thinking she'd just accompanied me out of kindness, when in fact she'd obviously drunk it all in. She never fails, even now, to surprise me with her breadth of intellect and understanding; though she likes to pretend otherwise, I know. Then, what seemed hours later, when the evening mist had tinted the landscape before us with romantic washes of pale light, she led me back to camp, squeezing my hand all the way. We lay down in our blankets, hugging close, and I dreamed wonderful dreams.

Thor's Day, slightly cloudy, with hints of a light cool breeze.— There was no hurry, so we rode down into the forested valley, and took great delight in wending our way through the scented avenues and open spaces between the trees. I love the way tall trees enfold the traveller in a warm embrace, appearing to protect them from all dangers and worries. Though I know the Lady With Whom I Ride Through Life has a different outlook—she never being really at ease under an extended canopy of trees. There's a story attached to this which I may tell you sometime in the future, dear Amara. But for now we were perfectly happy; until, of course, duty called once again. These dam' voracious footpads, thugs, brigands, outlaws, and general moral degenerates; why are there always so many of 'em wherever we set foot? We never seem to be able to ride more than a parasang in peace before some smelly odious loser springs out from behind a tree and kindly asks us to do something unmentionable with them. That, or simply give 'em all we own; or, indeed, both. I say single also-ran but, knowing our luck as you do Amara, yes, they generally come in droves. As was the case in the present instance.

We'd just ridden out of the trees into one of those wide open grass-covered glades, where you could bathe in the sun and blue sky for a short period, when there was a rattle of leather horse-appurtenances from our right-hand and around twelve banditti bore down on us. 'Ha-Ha, now we'll have some fun, boys' shouted the disreputable-looking leader. 'F—k it, what a waste o'the day.' Says My Protector, baring her teeth in preparation for scaring the sh-t out'ta those who are lucky enough to survive the coming affray. She draws her sword over her shoulder into her left hand, grabbing her chakram in her right. I draw my gladius in my right, and lean down to retrieve a sai for my left; now we were ready for business. Well, Amara, a fight's a fight; and once you've described one—especially involving Xena—then you've essentially described them all.

Five of the thieves, much the worse for wear all-round, rode off into the trees, escaping further mauling from either Xena or I. The others were distributed over the greensward in varying positions indicative of sudden death. After which we rode on about our lawful purposes; as opposed to their lawless, and now fully crushed, hopes of treasons stratagems and spoils. 'Their pals, if harbouring enough bravado to return to the scene, could bury the bodies.' Says my Always-Comforting Partner; and so our journey continued. It's always so reassuring to be around the Source of All My Light, Amara.

Freyja's Day, sunshiny and hot— We both always enjoy this day of the week, neither of us knows exactly why, but there you are, Amara. The forest had thinned now, becoming just a widespread extended wood. The streams were more numerous; indeed, several were full-bodied rivers. These, when approached, needed careful handling, though none were especially deep—but it's always safer to be wary where any river is concerned, my friend.

Rose later than usual, Her of Whom I Harbour Lasting Adoration having promised to do the morning cooking. Yep, you guessed right, Amara, everything was stone-cold and/or under-cooked. I mean, what can you do with a raw egg, splashed on a pewter plate beside a slice of bacon that looks as if it's still alive? I put this offering down on the grass carefully, and told The Exalted One she looked peaky this morning. So she went off in a huff, leaving me to make my own meal—I ask you, Amara, would you put up with someone like that? I'm sure I don't know why I do—but I do.

Afternoon— Met a group of travelers; a mix of men, women, and children. They were mostly merchants, with three loaded wagons, just leaving the town we were heading towards. So the Great Warrior chose to stop and offer friendly greetings, and try to find out the lie of the land thereabouts; her hoplite instincts coming into play that way, y'see. So we waylaid the company; an action which seemed to suit the merchants just fine. A grizzled old man in a forlorn dusty cape, seemingly the leader, asked Her of Whose Opinions I Can Never Speak Too Highly her views on Theocritus's new scroll, dealing with the city-state. As that person whom he had buttton-holed never looked at a scroll for pleasure, he was on a losing game from the start; receiving only a gloomy frown in answer. Another, younger and peppier, man asked my views on the Scythian hordes; supposedly running rampage, as we spoke, over the Northern regions. Having heard nothing of this myself, I could hardly do better in reply than My Companion's poor effort. Then they got down to serious business; a woman, appearing from one of the covered carts with an armful of linen and other wares, immediately began to harangue both of us. It, apparently, being her life's work to make us buy something, anything, from her before we let our mounts take a single step further.

Well, Her Whom I Accompany Everywhere not wanting to buy as much as a spare pin to hold her leather top together, and I not being in a market mood—yes, I know, you're fainting in disbelief as you read these lines, Amara; but such was the case. What with one thing and another; and the lack, certainly, of a proper morning-meal, well, I was stiff, unsatisfied, melancholy and just not in the dam' mood. Suffice to say that breaking away from that group of merchants was harder than escaping some armies who had pursued us in the past. What a life I lead, sometimes, alongside She Who Goes With Me Wherever I Travel. Anyway, we were finally successful; my ears ringing the while with the savage remark, from someone nearby as I rode along, that 'they had been harder to get rid off than those dam' bandits earlier'.

Later— Spent the rest of the day holed up in a thick stand of trees encircled by gorse bushes, in fear of more merchants.

Saturn's Day, misty, cold, breezy.— Stayed within our carefully concealed camp all day. We'd both had enough of marauding thieves, and the even more dangerous merchants, infesting the surrounding area of the nearby town. Neither Her Whom I Love Alone, nor I being at home to visitors. Well, you have to have your principles, don't you, sweetest Amara?

The Sun's Day once more, cheerful, bright, full of the joys of Life— We left the last of the thinly scattered woods about the town, and rode onto one of the dirt tracks which were the main routes to and from this centre of commerce. Our holiday having come to an end, finally. Although, as She Whom I Revere grunted disparagingly as we approached the Main Gate, parts of it had seemed like any other, non-holiday, day in our lives.

'Action just seems t'follow you wherever you go', sez I, without thinking. 'Ha', says You-Know-Who, 'I put it all down t'you, doll. Fancy y'got an aroma, or somethin', just like bees headin' fer flowers. Fetches reprobates from parasangs away, I'm sure of it'. Well, dearest Amara, you can imagine what I thought of this. I've been with my Chosen One for long enough to have heard, and remembered, some fairly fruity phrases, dealing with all sorts of aspects to do with the human body. I let them all flow freely, I assure you—well, one has to take a stand sometime, doesn't one, Amara?

Upon looking back into this, my journal, I find I am at a loss to know whether I pass my time, alongside She Who Must Be Obeyed, well or ill (only joking Amara, wild horses wouldn't tear us asunder—though various warlords, I admit, have often tried that ploy in the past, mind you). Indeed, I'd never truly given much thought to how our daily or weekly lives panned out before you so kindly asked me to put quill to scroll and come clean with the goods. I scarce find a single action in these five days I can thoroughly approve of; except the incident of the bandit horde, which I am resolved was a Good action, in Plato's sense of the term. As for Her Who Lives in My Soul Forever, I did not think even she took up so much of my time and thoughts, as I find she does in this journal. However,—as Xena says, much too often I'm sure,—I should not let my life run away in a dream. But where dreaming comes in, pertaining to my constant saving of my Loved One's ass on sundry occasions with my sais and superb Amazon warrior instincts, I can't say.

Heigh-ho, dearest Amara, I hope this scroll contains matter of great uplift to you, and that you have enjoyed reading it as I, your loving friend, have enjoyed writing it. Gods, finished just before the tear where Xena took the lower half of the scroll to—well, never mind, Amara, I suppose some things must remain secrets forever. Goodbye dearest, and write to us soon; Xena loves to hear from you just as I do; though your scrolls may take some time to catch up with us, I admit. Cheerio, Gabrielle of Potidaea.

The End.

—O—

Note— The second last paragraph-'Upon looking back into this—', is the only one from Addison's essay which I more or less took over wholesale. The line— 'Dreamed that Xena lay at my feet, and called me 'inamorata'—is also based on a similar line from earlier in Addison's work. For the rest I just used the general theme of his famous essay.