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'Athena's Helmet'
Disclaimer 1:— MCA/Universal/RenPics own all copyrights to everything related to 'Xena: Warrior Princess' and I have no rights to them.
Disclaimer 2:— This story in no way reflects the plot, setting, or characters to be found in the episode 'Many Happy Returns', series 6 episode 19, which uses Hermes' helmet.
Chapter 1 of 4.
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"Glad you're back. Thought ya'd got lost in the wilds of Chalcidice?"
"Come on, Xena." Gabrielle grinned at this unjust remark as she walked slowly, with something of a slight limp apparent in her step, along the street beside the warrior. "Chalcidice's my home territory. I couldn't get lost there if I tried."
"So how'd you like your little holiday; all alone; by yourself; not with me?"
"It was great." The blonde-haired traveller nodded happily. "Gods, it was just what I needed."
"Oh, thanks."
"You know what I mean. Don't sulk." Gabrielle patted Xena's hand, like a mother reprimanding her young daughter. "It makes the lines on your forehead stand out."
"Hey! I ain't got frown lines." The tall woman turned on her friend, with a pout. "Though it isn't for the lack of your antics trying ta bring 'em on!"
"Relax." Gabrielle, however, had already moved on to the important topic of the day. "D'you wan'na hear about my journey or not. You'll love it. It was like this—"
Xena smiled gently with an amused light in her blue eyes as Gabrielle continued, blissfully unaware of the dark-haired warrior's inattention. Xena having had to stay in Piraeus* to await a decision about a piece of secret business the women-warriors had been asked to carry out by the Athenian Senate; which was dragging its heels over the matter in its customary manner, Gabrielle had taken the opportunity to go off on her own. She had travelled to Chalcidice looking, as she told Xena, to breathe some home-grown air for a while. She had been away just over three weeks and had returned only that morning. Now she was full of energy, and ready and willing to relate to Xena every last detail of her journey.
"Well, to start with, you were right about that range of hills I crossed to reach Chalcidice, Xena." Gabrielle shook her head at the memory. "Just like you said, it was all swamp on the far side. Took me ages to paddle through the mud and reach dry land. And you know how much I hate mud. Well, anyway, what happened was—"
"Ya know that thing we were asked to do by the Senate, about Athena's helmet?"* The tall dark warrior summarily interrupted her nearly-long-lost friend with innocent brutality, indicating with a pointed finger the rather dilapidated building they had reached. "Well, we gotta meet someone here at this Inn who's finally gonna tell us the Senate's decision about it. Today. Right now, as it happens. Great timing, Gabrielle!"
"What! This dump?" Gabrielle pigeon-holed her memoirs for the moment; but not without an inward decision that Xena was going to get the full un-edited version later that evening, whether she wanted it or not. "Why, it looks as if it fell down—last year!"
"Gods, don't be so-so—Potidean!" Xena felt miffed at this contemptuous disregard for her choice of venue. "Living in a Palace back in Chalcidice all last week, were we?"
"Watch it, warrior." But Gabrielle couldn't help a grin that only served to take the intended sting from her reply as she walked, still limping, alongside Xena towards the entrance. "I've been ridin' a pony with a bumpy spine all day to get here—so I ain't a happy lady!"
As if to add insult to Gabrielle's injury the first person the women saw as they entered the decrepit Inn was none other than Autolycus in earnest conversation with the Innkeeper, in a shadowy corner near the door.
"What'cha doin', Auto?"
"Hi, Xena. I'm just showing the Innkeeper here how to maximise his profits." The King of Thieves blithely mistook her greeting for an actual request for information, then carried on purposefully with his spiel. "So you see, my friend, all that's necessary is for you to add two measures of water to each cask of wine instead of one. That way you halve the amount of wine used each evening, yet gain the same amount of money; thereby eventually doubling your profits. See?"*
"But ain't that illegal?" The Innkeeper seemed less than convinced by this quaint method of enlarging his fortunes.
"That's unfair, Autolycus." Gabrielle sneered outright at the proposal.
"That's criminal." Xena, on the other hand, pin-pointed the crux of the matter with cold finality.
"It's a sort'a hazy area. Let's not be picky, alright?" Autolycus shrugged his shoulders expressively, with a frown of annoyance at all this unfair criticism. "I'm a businessman. Businessmen operate in dark corners, sometimes."
"You'll soon be in the dark corner of a prison-cell!" Gabrielle sniggered lightly, with a hand to her lips.
"No change there, then." Xena sniffed haughtily. "Come on, Gabrielle, let's go eat."
And they passed on austerely into the low-ceilinged dimly lit dining room.
"I dunno why you dragged me to this rat-bag, rundown, wretched ruin of an Inn, Xena!" Gabrielle stared round the dusty interior of the ramshackle structure with a mean dis-satisfied look. "Even if we are to meet a man about Athena's thingummy! Did you pick this place deliberately? 'Cause I don't think much of your taste, lady, not by a long way. Look at the dust. And I've tripped over at least two loose floorboards. This place is a — Gods, look'it that! I just saw a rat run along the edge of the wall back in the shadows over there. Hera, Hephaistos, and Loki! That's it, we're leaving."
Xena leaned over and grabbed the wrist of her erstwhile companion as the blonde made a determined effort to rise again from the somewhat rickety table they had just chosen.
"Come on, Gabrielle, let's give the place a chance." The Warrior Princess glanced round, though not without a growing sense of uneasiness herself. "OK, so it ain't palatial—but I'm told the food's the best in Piraeus. Food, Gabrielle! Stews to make your mouth water; fish in sauce that'd—that'd charm a fakir off his column; beef-steaks that melt in the mouth; lovely sweet apple and damson pies in thick soft pastry with lots'a clotted cream that—that just scream to be drooled over. Don't ya wanna do some big-time droolin'!"
"I generally like to do my drooling in a lady-like manner—in a nice clean well-set-up Inn with clean tables; clean cutlery; clean surroundings; and, best of all, clean food that hasn't served as last night's bed for a colony of rats!" The Amazon gave her companion a steady glare from wide flickering green eyes. "This ain't that place, Xena. Let's haul butt!"
"Don't forget about our appointment! At least wait an' try the first course, seeing as I've already ordered it." Xena played her best card, compressing her lips in what she hoped came across as a pout of yearning desire. "Venison broth, Gabrielle! I mean, what could possibly go wrong with venison broth?"
"In a place like this—I hate to imagine." But nonetheless the Amazon settled back on her chair opposite Xena with a disgruntled toss of her head; which would have been more effective if her hair had been longer. "Oh, alright. But I'm holding you responsible. If we both spend most of tomorrow throwing-up don't look to me for comfort, madam!"
As if the whole action had been meticulously choreographed a waiter suddenly materialised out of the dubiously aromatic gloom with a tray on which sat two steaming bowls. With scrupulous care he set them down before the women; placed spoons, wrapped in unexpectedly clean cloths, beside the bowls; then silently vanished back into the heart of darkness that was the far end of the public dining-room.
"Well, umm—I suppose,—." Gabrielle gave the bowl's contents a severe examination; then came to a decision and picked up her spoon. "Doesn't look as bad as it might have been. Maybe it'll be edible."
She followed this faint praise by bringing the laden spoon to her lips and cautiously tasting the thick dark broth. After an instant she smacked her lips; made a wordless noise of satisfaction; and raised her eyes to nod at her co-diner.
"Yeah, quite nice. Seems alright. I'll eat this at least." But an Amazon note of caution quickly exerted itself. "Not that I'm making any promises about the rest, mind!"
Peace and tranquillity settled over the table for a short while; the only sound being the slurping as Xena tucked into what was really a well-made broth. Gabrielle had pretty much given up trying to instil the exotic peaks of aristocratic table-manners into her other half; having long settled merely for the general basics: though watching, and listening, to Xena eating could still be a trial for a gently brought up girl!
Finally Gabrielle pushed her now empty bowl away with a sigh of content.
"So, tell me again, what magical properties does Athena's helmet have?" Gabrielle set her light green eyes firmly on Xena, clearly implying she required an answer.
"None." Xena raised her eyebrows with a show of annoyance as she looked across the table. Gabrielle was still harping on a topic she had first brought up weeks ago, before her trip. "How many more times do I have to say this? None. Zero. Zilch. Tipota. It's just a helmet."*
"You sure?"
"Gabrielle!" The mighty warrior snarled, ever so gently, through clenched teeth. "Are you doing this just to irritate me?"
"No, no, sweetness,—I'm only trying to enlarge my knowledge." The fair-haired Peri pursued her quest for information unfazed.* "You know what Aristotle says—'facts are what matter most'!"*
"Dam—" But Xena was interrupted in her appraisal of the great philosopher by a large shadow suddenly looming over their table.
In another moment a strongly built man in dark clothes sat down beside Xena, displaying an air of supreme self-confidence.
With the low late afternoon sun filtering through the dusty Inn windows he was seen at first merely as a silhouette by the women-warriors. Though even from a distance anyone would have realised this man was more than proficient, probably in many things. His face was dark-tanned and straight-jawed, showing prominent cheek-bones and a high forehead with thick dark hair; his frame tall and strong and his expression one of grim fortitude. His eyes were wide and of a piercing intensity, while he rested one hand casually on the gilded hilt of a long sword held in a purple scabbard at his waist. A thin moustache only seemed to add to the rather menacing aura which surrounded him. Allied to which he exuded an air of calm reticence; though his general demeanour suggested that anyone who opposed his plans or attacked him would realise their mistake within moments; moments which, most probably, would be the last of their lives.
He threw back his long dark woollen cloak to reveal leggings of Britannic style, held at the waist by a thick leather belt. He wore a shirt, also of foreign make, in a dull brown colour. His boots were well-worn and black, as were the long leather gauntlets covering his hands. He looked capable and dangerous.
"What can I do fer you, mister?" The Innkeeper spoke warily as he approached the table, one hand holding the neck of a wine amphora by his side.
"Wine. Red. No water." The traveller's voice had an unmistakably cultured foreign accent, possibly from Sparta or thereabouts, but his tone was reserved and quiet. "Greetings, Xena. A long time since we last met."
"Ave, Tros." Xena used the Roman word with a slight smile, as if she knew it would annoy the man. "Gabrielle, let me introduce an old acquaintance—Tros, of Samothrace. We had a history, some years ago."*
"Oh, Gods!" Gabrielle muttered this quietly as she took in the man opposite.
Something, she could not tell exactly what, made her dislike him on sight. Perhaps this had to do with the curious look of superiority in his eyes as he gazed straight at her without embarrassment; as if challenging her to break eye contact first.
Noticing this Xena leaned over and shoved her nearly empty soup-bowl across in front of him.
"Losing that scrawny beard you used to have hasn't improved your looks much! Are ya hungry?" Her lips twitched in an open sneer. "Maybe you can finish this at another table, if ya don't want to eat with us women! Or do you have something to say of interest?"
"Ha! As cold and unsubtle as ever, eh?" Tros's eyes, of amber-gold, examined her intently; seemingly reflecting both approval and contempt in equal measure. "If I have shown less regard for some women—and you—at times than perhaps seemed polite, it is only that they served me dishonourably. If so, why give them friendship—where only a cur's betrayal is to be expected in return?"
"You ain't much good at making friends are ya, Tros!" Xena shook her long black tresses. "Having known you in the past I can honestly say there's snakes I've met I'd rather call my friend than you!"
"Snakes? Or Romans?" Tros's query was accompanied with a curl of his lips that made his implication plain. "You seem much more cosy with the latter than I remember from times gone by. Especially the Senate members on the hill over in Athens. And so you end by becoming the messenger-dog of Rome!"*
There was a tense silence around the table. Xena merely looking with contempt at the large man; while Gabrielle gazed from one to the other, trying to measure the level of antagonism rapidly increasing between the two adversaries. It was clear to the Amazon that the Senate's wishes regarding Athena's helmet were not, after all, quite the secret they ought to have been. The question that then intrigued her was—just what relevance did the object have, for this strange man.
"If this is a conversation anyone can join in, could I just ask a simple question?" Gabrielle's voice had started quietly; rapidly slowed in pace; and taken on an ominous harshness that caught Xena's full attention, at least. "First; who are you? Second; what business is it of yours, prying into our affairs: even if you used to know Xena. Third; our friendships, or not, with whom we please are no damn concern of yours. Fourthly; if you don't start bein' more polite to Xena what's there to stop me transfixing your feet to the floorboards with my sais? Fifthly; there's a door over there. From where we're situated it's called the exit—use it!"
For a fraction of time a look of astonishment might have been supposed to have flickered across the man's tanned face; then Tros pulled himself together and transferred his attention from one known warrior to the, now suddenly revealed, other warrior. He slowly, but carefully, appraised the slight form of the woman across the table. Petite in size, but well-muscled and strong in body; staring at him now with a gaze that could be seen to exude the authority of a leader; her leather top barely covering, indeed seeming to enhance, her surprisingly richly-proportioned figure; one hand invisible beneath the table, and the other lying almost gently spread on the tabletop—fingertips barely touching Xena's own hand set resolutely beside hers; and in her posture all the controlled intensity of a tiger about to spring. After looking once more from this vixen-in-human-form to Xena and back again Tros, metaphorically speaking, backed-off.
"By Caesar's grief! You choose your companions well, Xena." He nodded, almost appreciatively, at the blonde-haired woman opposite him. "An Amazon, eh? I should have realised the moment I set eyes on you. I blame this dark hole for my mistake. So the Senate have given orders that you, Xena, with Amazon help must take Rome's gift, Athena's helmet, to Pergamum for the Festival? How quaint."*
"Just wha—" but Gabrielle was quickly interrupted.
"Neither of us know what you're talking about." Xena dismissed the topic with disdain. "Whatever fantasies are deluding you are nothing to do with us. Are ya going to use that door over there yourself; or do ya want me to help you?"
"Almighty Zeus! It has indeed been too long since I last experienced your company. You have a personality that—shall we say—makes its presence felt!" Tros suddenly leaned over the table with both his hands widespread. "The Senate, Rome's snivelling guttersnipe, wishes Athena's helmet sent to the Pergamum Festival in a few weeks time as a mark of respect. To Pergamum, where the citizens are not only life-long slaves to the dominance of Rome; but where their fathers and mothers, and grandfathers and grandmothers and even further back, have all licked the feet of Rome. They shall never see the helmet; not while blood flows in my veins, and I have my crew and my trireme!"
Finally rising he cast a last angry glance at the women and swung on his heel to head for the door. As he approached it the Innkeeper, for no discernible reason, appeared out of the gloom and blundered into his path.
"Imbecile! Go serve the slaves of Rome!"
With one mighty fist Tros grabbed the man's jerkin, lifted him off his feet, and threw him against the nearby wall; causing a storm of dirt and dust to billow through the room. Another moment and Tros had disappeared into the street.
"That maniac has a trireme?" Gabrielle, with tragic brevity, asked the one and only question of any import.
"Yep." Xena admitted the fact with a sorrowful nod, as she placed her hand comfortingly over that of the Amazon. "His very own. All to himself. No-one else's. And he's one of the best seafaring fighters I've ever met!"
"Oh, sh-t!"
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Notes:—
1. Piraeus was the nearby sea-port which served as naval base for Athens, further inland.
2. Athena was the patron Goddess of Athens, represented as usually wearing a Corinthian military helmet.
3. Classical Greeks always drank their wine watered down. To drink it straight was regarded as barbaric.
4. Tipota. Greek for 'nothing'.
5. Peri. A form of benevolent, but sometimes annoying, fairy. Most famous for appearing in Thomas Moore's poem-cycle 'Lalla Rookh' in the section 'Paradise and the Peri'.
6. 'facts—matter most'. Not a known quotation from Aristotle—unless it is a lost work, unread since Gabrielle last scrutinised it! Maybe Xena had some slight hand in the scroll's eventual disappearance?
7. Tros of Samothrace. A hero of historical fantasies by the 1930's pulp-writer Talbot Mundy. Tros was portrayed as an enemy of Julius Caesar and Rome, while being a friend of Cleopatra. He was immensely self-confident, but also showed a somewhat bullying and male chauvinistic attitude at times.
8. After Alexander the Great (356-323 BC), Athens ceased to be a fully independent power; and by 85 BC had come under Roman rule. It continued as little more than a Province of Rome from then on.
9. Pergamum, or Pergamon, was an ancient Greek city in modern-day Turkey, in Mysia. It was the capital of the Kingdom of Pergamum under the Attalid dynasty. They were always loyal supporters of Rome. When Attilus III died in 133 BC he willed Pergamum to Rome and it continued as a Province thereafter.
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