The streets buzzed with sound as Xena entered Martimas. From the street vendors trying to hawk their wares, to the chatter of old wives, the city reverberated with ever-constant sound.
"You! Yes, you there! A fine warrior such as yourself must always be in need of a blade." A merchant in a turban grabbed for Xena's attention.
"Already have one, thanks." She was distracted, trying to follow Salvitorus' outline through the crowd.
"Ah, but not one of this quality. Hephaestus himself crafted this fine blade. Forged on his mountain of power. Gleaned from the fiery…"
Xena was no longer listening; her quarry was turning a corner. With the merchant's sales pitch fading off into the morning air, she made her way through the sea of people, shadowing Salvitorus. The masses of bodies reeked of the smell of civilization.
A woman wearing a gauze shawl and smelling of peach blossoms would pass scant feet from a fishmonger fresh from the day's catch, stinking of his profession. Children with nothing but play on their minds raced by men with decidedly more sinister reasons for haste. All this and more Xena perceived as she fought her way through the streets. And it reminded her of something: She was glad she didn't live in the city.
Salvitorus stopped in front of a hovel, greeting the man before it. The stranger frowned and they went inside. Xena shoved and elbowed her way to the dwelling, trying to get in a position to hear what was going on.
"You're late." The stranger said, seating himself at the one table in the room.
"It's not my fault. I had to take some detours. And I wanted to make sure I wasn't followed."
"The others have already gone ahead. I was told to stay behind on the off chance you actually showed up and fill you in."
"Well, I'm here now, so start filling." Salvitorus pulled up a chair and seated himself at the table as well.
"The job's being done tomorrow night. Figuring the fact that there ain't no moon be the best time." Salvitorus nodded his head, made sense to him. The stranger went on.
"Go in, crack the cage, get the bird, then fly on out." He fluttered his hands in a pantomime of a butterfly. They laughed.
"Sounds simple enough," said Salvitorus, "But then what?"
"Then what? Then we sit back and let the good times roll. There won't be nuthin' we can't do after this gig."
Salvitorus thought of Xena back in that tavern, but he kept it to himself. Didn't want to jinx it. Besides, he'd bluffed her into thinking he was just a traveling stranger. She was probably on the other side of Greece by now.
In fact, she was just outside the back window, listening to their conversation with rapt attention.
'Bird'? 'Cage'? 'Fly'? Xena puzzled over the problem while hoping the rogues had more to say.
"We leave tonight." The stranger said. He reached for the jug of wine lying on the table. "Here's to good times and good fortune!" And with that they kicked off a mini celebration.
She'd wait until they were sloshed, then she'd go in and find out what she wanted to know. They'd be easier to handle that way.
***
"15 dinars? Ha! I'll give you 7, and not an ounce more." Gabrielle put on her most business-like face. She was in her element, haggling was in her blood. Xena may have been a warrior of battle, but Gabrielle was a warrior of bargains. And like all good warriors, she crushed her enemy unmercifully.
"Deal." The vendor snatched the dinars, thrust the shawl at Gabrielle and closed up shop, picking up his cart and moving on, grumbling all the way. Happily stowing the item in her travel bag, Gabrielle continued on.
This had actually turned into a good suggestion on Xena's part. The finery, the food; this was what she needed. Xena was a great traveling companion, but she was a bit on the Spartan side. 'Why pay good dinars when the dirt's for free?' she'd say whenever the mention of staying at an inn came up. The ground was nice, but for Gabrielle's part she wouldn't pass up a bed when offered one.
Still musing, she didn't see the group of men until it was too late.
"Oomph!" Gabrielle stumbled back as she collided with one of the strangers.
"Watch where you're going!" He snapped roughly, muscling by.
"Watch where you're going!" She called back. Giving a small snort, she got herself composed while watching the throng of men disappear into the crowd.
"How rude." But her good humor was at once restored when she spied the bakery across the street. Rubbing her hands, and with visions of nut bread dancing in her head, all thoughts of the incident were forgotten.