Gabrielle emerged from their room the next morning after a night spent restlessly tossing and turning, her mind caught and running like a mouse in a trap between Caesar's cold prediction of disaster and the harsh words he had thrown at her: I told you you didn't understand. I told you it couldn't be done. You insisted we stay and try to help these people. Are you happy now? She had fretted throughout most of the night, stewing in a mix of worry and fear; as she rose from her bed, her stomach felt tied in knots and she felt a gnawing sense of dread of the day to come. What have I gotten us into? she kept repeating. What have I gotten us into?
Her companion's bed had not been slept in, she saw with a glance over at his side of the room; she hadn't heard him come in last night either. She might have cared more for that if she hadn't been so nervous herself.
She set her clothing in order and ran her fingers through her hair before going out into the common room in search of breakfast. She had never felt less hungry in her entire life, but she knew she should at least eat something to give her strength for the day to come.
The mystery of her companion's whereabouts was solved as she stepped into the common room; in the cold, gray morning light, she saw Caesar right where she had left him, slumped over the table, his dark head resting on his arms. His eyes were closed, and his shoulders rose and fell with the long, even rhythms of sleep. The oil lamp that stood beside him had burned out. The tavern owner behind the bar—Ami, Gabrielle had thought she was called—was opening up, running a cloth over the long stone counter; she caught Gabrielle's eye, indicated Caesar, and held a finger to her lips, smiling slightly; she looked at Caesar with an almost maternal tenderness. Gabrielle fought back the urge to glare at her.
She marched over to her companion. The sight of Caesar sleeping aroused no pity in her, not this time, and she was distantly surprised to find it so; but the gnawing dread deep inside her gut crowded everything else out. There was no room in her for anything except fear. She grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. "Wake up," she ordered. "It's morning."
He grunted slightly and jerked at her touch. One dark eye opened. "Go away." He closed his eyes again. Gabrielle shook him harder.
"You have to wake up," she said urgently. "The army's coming today and you need to be ready for them." She glanced over at Ami. "Could you get us something to eat, please?"
"Sure thing, Missy," Ami said with a bright grin, and vanished into the kitchen at the back. Gabrielle's nerves were so keyed up that the tavernkeeper's cheeriness ground on her like nails on a piece of slate. She shook Caesar again. "Wake up! Do you want me to get a bucket of water and splash you?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
He shrugged her hand off roughly, but he did straighten up, lifting his head from his arms; he winced, shifted, and ran his hands over his face briefly. "What time is it?"
"Sunrise. Or close." She glanced over her shoulder at where the tavernkeeper had vanished, then moved closer to him. "Did you figure…anything out?" she asked in an undertone.
"No," he said, sounding seriously irritated. "I told you, it was impossible."
"Well, I'm sure you'll think of something," Gabrielle replied. The words of encouragement sounded as false as they felt; inwardly, her sense of dread only intensified. She hadn't realized how sure she had been that he would be able to pull something out of a hat and save them. There has to be a way. There has to…. She glanced down at the table before them. In one of her bardic tales, she knew, she would be able to look at the papers, and make a random comment that would give Caesar an inspiration for victory; but this was not a bardic tale. Everything before her looked as strange as if it had been written in the spiky Sumerian script; she could make heads or tails out of none of it.
Caesar eyed her coldly. "What's the weather like in your world?" He worked his shoulders briefly, then gripped the edge of the table and started to push himself up. He stopped, wincing. "I need to get up. Help me."
"Ami's making breakfast—"
"It'll have to wait. I want to see the earthworks one more time."
Gabrielle went to his side and pulled his arm across her shoulders. "Will it help?"
"Why are you so stupid?" Caesar demanded with barely leashed anger. "Nothing will—" He broke off and glanced back at the kitchen, then continued in an undertone. "Nothing will help, you screeching harpy." His face was drawn in the harsh morning light, his eyes seeming hollow, almost haunted. He looked oddly close to cracking for a moment, and Gabrielle drew back in surprise; then he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, seeming to take a grip on himself. "Come on. I want to see the earthworks."
Unnerved, Gabrielle let him lean on her until he took his staff from where it leaned against the wall near him. He pointed back at the table. "Bring those." She picked up the sheets he had indicated, and followed him across the floor, then out into the misty green world of the early morning outside the tavern walls.
They came at midday, just as Caesar had said they would.
The sentries he had sent into the woods started filtering back in, reporting that they had seen Zagreas's men moving up from the south; Caesar had nodded, and assembled the villagers at the south side of the village, drawn up in the narrow gap in the spike-filled ditch ring; the hedgehogs were positioned a bit forward of them to the left and the right of the entrance. They were armed with the same motley assortment of implements they had brought to the tavern meeting last night—pitchforks, scythes, axes—but Gabrielle sensed something different about them; imbued with Caesar's will, these villagers were fired with resolve. She sensed a stony determination about them that had not been there yesterday, and something else: deep within their hearts, she sensed, a will to go down swinging, to fight to the last, be it victory or death, was awakening. She sensed in their grim expressions, in the quick, nervous, hungry grins they tossed to one another as they drew themselves up in formation, in the way they gripped their makeshift weapons and implements and waited, silently, in their rows, facing forward, for Zagreas's men to come. That—that hunger to fight back—that hadn't come from Caesar, of that Gabrielle was sure. It had already been there, born out of the campaigns they endured at the hands of Xena and Callisto and Najara, out of Zagreas; Gabrielle thought they simply hadn't had a way to express it before now, a means to let it out, until Caesar had come and shown them how to fight. I think Caesar may have underestimated these villagers, she thought, looking over the rows of determined faces; Minya was in the front, holding a wicked-looking axe, and she caught Gabrielle's eye and winked at her. You can only push people down for so long before they start itching to strike back, no matter what the cost…. The villagers might never have fought in this way before, Gabrielle realized, but they were far from untried; they had seen death and destruction before, as the three conquerors raged across their valley. They probably had a better idea than she did of what to expect, of what could—and probably would—happen to at least some of them, and were willing to pay the cost. Seeing their determination eased a tiny bit of the cold fear gripping her heart; she felt a little better. They have will, she thought, looking them over; then she glanced up at Caesar. I only wish I could say the same about him….
Caesar sat on Argo, looking out over the array of the villagers, his face set, his dark eyes narrowed against the light from the noonday sun. When talking to the villagers earlier, giving them final instructions, he had spoken with the same utterly confident manner he had the day before in the tavern; but Gabrielle could see the fine lines around his eyes, the strain in his shoulders, hear the hollowness in his voice. Maybe it was because she knew him so well—the villagers didn't seem to notice anything different about his manner, indeed, they were responding to him almost as if they were real military, sounding off, "Sir, yes, sir!" and "Sir, no, sir!" in response to every order he gave them. To Gabrielle, however, his demeanor said that he had already been defeated. She bit her lip. If their commander didn't think they could win….
Caesar was mounted on Argo at the rear of the formation, on a slight rise that gave a commanding view of the battlefield; he hadn't said anything overtly, but it was pretty clear that he needed the mobility a horse could give. At his waist he bore the gladius they had taken off Licinus; one hand was clenched on its hilt as he looked over the green and slightly slanting field in the bright noonday sun, to the edge where the treeline began. The morning mist had burned off, but the grasses were still wet with dew; it was humid, muggy, and Gabrielle found herself swatting at tiny gnats dancing before her eyes. She was on the ground by Argo's head, holding the horse's reins; "You need to get down," Caesar had told her. "I have to be able to see, and I can't see around you."
The second she had dismounted, Argo had become skittish, sidestepping, whickering and blowing; Gabrielle had seized the reins, and the horse had quieted. Now Gabrielle spoke to her. "You can't do that," she told the horse. "I know you don't like him, girl," she said in an undertone, "but you have to carry him. Just for now. Okay?" Argo had flicked her ears; Gabrielle didn't know whether the horse understood her or not. Caesar looked down at her from Argo's back, and then looked away.
At her waist, Gabrielle carried her little knife, and tucked through her belt in the back, a hatchet; she had tested the edge and it was wicked sharp. She had no intention of using it. She had originally not planned to carry a weapon at all, but Caesar had looked at her as she led Argo out of the stables into the hard-surfaced courtyard. "You're going to go into battle completely unarmed?" he had asked her, sounding incredulous.
She had met his eyes, and some of the real animosity she had felt toward him since Licinus showed through there. "I will not kill again."
"You're going to be in battle and not kill?"
"I. Will. Not." She held his eyes, feeling her jawline tighten. It was her turn to speak in a voice that brooked no contradiction. The feeling of the prybar striking Licinius's skull came back to her at odd moments, jarring her hands; she could still hear that horrible crack of iron on bone. The two of them glared at each other for a long moment.
"So you don't have a problem with these villagers killing, only with doing it yourself?" he'd asked. His black eyes glinted.
"What?"
"You wanted this battle." His voice was rough. "You were the one who said the villagers needed it. This is happening because of you. And you're not willing to soil your hands?"
"Shut up." Gabrielle's tension level was too high for her to tolerate his baiting.
"And you call me a coward." Caesar was trying for cool irony, but his voice was too ragged around the edges to really pull it off. Nevertheless, it struck home.
"Do you hear me?" Gabrielle asked, her own anger rising. "Back off, or I drop Argo's reins and you're stranded."
"You're not going to lead my horse unless you have some kind of weapon," he had ordered her.
Gabrielle could feel her temper surging wildly, fueled by the fear underlying it; she dropped Argo's reins and clasped her hands, fighting for some kind of control. I won't kill again, and I won't kill for you, she had thought but not said. But then, unbidden, came the thought that she was, in a way, asking him to kill for her—many people were going to die in this battle, and they would die because she had essentially bullied him into leading them. Uncertain, she dropped her eyes. Only to find that Caesar had dropped his eyes at the same moment. What's that about? she wondered in real surprise. She was absolutely positive that it wasn't because he felt bad about hurting her feelings….so what could it…..
"You don't have to use it," he said stiffly, looking away from her. "Just…something. That hatchet." He had pointed to where a hatchet was embedded in a nearby stump. "Take that. Just….take it."
Gabrielle had started to argue, but had stopped; she was suddenly too unsure of the ground on which she stood. When she had bullied Caesar into helping the villagers, she hadn't really considered that it would lead to battle; only that they needed help, and Caesar could give it to them. She hadn't thought about what that would entail. But she'd done it just the same. After a long moment, she had snatched the hatchet from the stump, then thrust it through her belt. If he had said one thing, she would have smacked him, but he said nothing.
"I'm not using it," she had insisted, to herself as much as to him.
"Whatever." His tone made it clear exactly what he thought of her denial. It took her a long moment before she could bring herself to take Argo's reins again.
Now she stood at Argo's head, behind the villagers drawn up in formation, listening to the sounds of Zagreas's army coming through the trees. She was aware of the sound of her heart beating in her ears, the blood rushing through her veins; she could hear the shouts, cries and curses of Zagreas's men, coming closer and closer. They hadn't broken the treeline yet; she couldn't see them. Nervously, she found herself edging closer to Argo, as if for protection; she glanced up at Caesar, but he was staring out over the horse's head, his face grim, his eyes narrowed against the sun. His jawline was tight with some unnamed emotion.
It all happened just as Caesar had told her the night before it would. When the men burst out of the dark treetrunks, yelling and shouting as they ran, Gabrielle gasped in startlement; there seemed to be a horde of them, of scruffy-looking men in the same browns and beiges as the peasants, carrying spears and arrows and long knives and daggers. A man on a horse rode at their head, with blue tattoos on his face; she guessed it must be Zagreas. Here and there among them glittered men in armor, cuirasses and breastplates, and she guessed these must be the deserters Caesar had spoken of.
"Not as many as I thought," she heard Caesar murmur above her. "Could be worse."
The villagers shifted among themselves as Zagreas's men boiled out of the trees, whooping and cheering, and a brief murmur rose over the crowd; their faces looked pale and set. Minya, in the front rank, glanced back at them. "Steady, everyone!" she shouted. "We'll give 'em something ta yell about, won't we?"
The villagers gave their own roar of affirmation. Gabrielle glanced up at Caesar again, swallowing; she wiped her palms on her red skirt surreptitiously, for her hands were sweaty with nerves, and pressed even closer to Argo. Caesar was watching the enemy, and gave no sign of even hearing Minya.
The man on horseback gave a yell, and Zagreas's men paused, milling at the edge of the treeline; clearly the sight of the fortifications and the villagers waiting for them had given them cause to reconsider. "Will they stop?" someone asked in the ranks, as the enemy came to a halt.
"Will they?" Gabrielle found herself asking, looking up again at Caesar; her voice quavered uncertainly, and her hands were clenched tight on Argo's reins.
Caesar seemed to hear her that time. "No," he said, sparing her a glance. "They're just regrouping. They'll be coming for us in a minute." He returned to looking back out at the slanting green field, through the slightly hazy air.
And indeed he was right, for the man Gabrielle had identified as Zagreas gave a loud yell. "Attack!" he cried. He was holding a long sword, and swung it forward; the milling crowd of his men gave a loud cheer and the army broke into a run, charging across the green field, straight toward the villagers.
Now Caesar looked down at the villagers before them. "Here they come," he called to them. "Wait for them. Don't move until I give the signal."
Minya looked back at him. "Should we release the hedgehogs?" she called back.
"No. Save them for the second wave." His hand tightened slightly on his gladius. Gabrielle was breathing so fast she saw dark flecks before her eyes for a moment, and forced herself to slow down. Her heart was going a mile a minute in her chest.
Zagreas's men came on. They were four hundred yards away.
Three hundred.
"Slingers," Caesar ordered, and those villagers who had been designated slingers launched their stones. Gabrielle heard the stones release, heard distant thuds, but couldn't tell if anyone had been hit among the wall of advancing men in Zagreas's army, though she might have heard some wails.
Two hundred fifty.
Two hundred.
One hundred fifty.
"Archers," she heard Caesar command, and those villagers who had bows raised them into the air and shot. A flight of arrows lifted into the air and came falling to earth, in the middle of Zagreas's men. Gabrielle saw a shaft sink into one of the men in the front rank, a big man missing several teeth and carrying a gold-hilted sword. The shaft suddenly sprouted from the front of his stained brown tunic. He dropped before he even had time to scream. The man was dead. Gabrielle knew it, but somehow the fact had no meaning for her. She was too nervous, too afraid of what would happen. There would be time to think about it later; now she had no room in her for any feeling but apprehension at the approach of Zagreas's men.
One hundred.
Fifty yards. Coming closer by the second.
Caesar glanced down at her. "Don't worry," he told her. "They won't get to where you and I are in the first assault." He drew his gladius from its sheath. The rasping sound made Gabrielle startle, she was so on edge, and Argo whickered. He raised his sword in the air. "Attack!" The villagers gave a rousing cry and raised their weapons, charging forward at a run and clashing with the men of Zagreas.
It was loud. Gabrielle was startled by how loud it was, and actually jumped as the first clash of metal on metal rang out. The horde of Zagreas's men were shouting, deep rousing battle cries, and she heard Minya give a shrill hawk-shriek followed by the rest of the villagers giving yells, screams, and cheers as the brown-clad force of Zagreas's slammed into the smaller mass of brown-clad villagers. All was confusion, with Gabrielle uncertain where to look, which way to turn. The little hatchet she carried at the back of her belt felt heavy and cold against her skin. She saw sights that seemed like something unreal, out of a dream. She saw Minya swinging her heavy axe, face twisted in a cry, and splitting the head of a man with twisted black locks; she saw an older man carrying a scythe raise it to block a grinning man with a long knife and slice open a huge, bloody gash on his arm; she heard him scream. She saw a young woman, her own age, jam a kitchen knife into the abdomen of a man twice her size and yank it out; a moment later, another of Zagreas's men plunged a spear into her back and the girl collapsed in a tangle of blonde hair, spitting blood. She heard cries of the wounded, screams of agony, heard thuds and cracks of bones splitting—cracks that reminded her horribly of the sound of her prybar hitting Licinus's skull. Instinctively, Gabrielle shrank back against Argo's shoulder, flinching close to the side of the big warm horse as much for reassurance as for protection. Oh gods, this is awful, she thought, and remembering what Caesar had said the night before, knew the worst was yet to come.
The mass of villagers swayed and fell back under the impact of Zagreas's force, collapsing in on itself back to the narrow opening in the ring of ditches and stakes. Gabrielle could see people crumpling, falling into brown heaps on the ground. Red blood stained the green grass. She couldn't tell if any of them were the villagers. She hoped they weren't, but knew probably at least some of them were. The villagers swayed, fell back….and held, struggling, thrashing, contesting strength with strength, steel with steel. The cries of Zagreas's men mingled with the screams of the villagers; Gabrielle could hear a determination in the villagers' cries, and defiance, and something else—something ugly, something that she had not thought was there, but which she felt was part of the defiance; part of the rage, of the hunger to strike back. There was a moment of confusion, where the milling throng of people heaved and swayed like a sea…and then the tide shifted, turning the other way, and it was Zagreas's men flowing back, back across the bloody grass; the mass of villagers heaved, and pushed, and threw Zagreas's men back, throwing them into retreat. They fell back, but not in panic; they were ebbing back as a tide ebbs out from a beach, leaving bodies dropped behind them as they went.
A shrill scream of victory rose from the villagers at the retreat. Gabrielle saw Minya raising her axe in the air, screaming, still in the front rank; no longer did she look like a peasant woman, but almost like a warrior, her long dark hair streaming behind her, her brown eyes flashing. Her axe was red with blood and clotted with something that looked like brains. The sight made Gabrielle queasy.
"Stop!" she heard her companion shout, as the knot of villagers started to untie itself and flow after them. "Hold your positions! Stay where you are!"
As he did so, Minya herself turned and shouted back at the villagers, "You heard Gaius! Don't move! Don't move!"
The villagers milled about in confusion; Gabrielle could sense the hunger in them, the desire to pursue what appeared to be fleeing prey. But a few more shouts from Minya and some of the others, and they stopped, holding steady, reforming their rows and ranks, gripping their weapons and facing Zagreas's men. There was a hunger about them, a desire to hurt, to strike; a leashed tension, oddly like what Gabrielle had sensed in Jett when she had met him. These villagers had tasted and drawn first blood, and they were hungry for more.
Zagreas's men flowed back, back, across the green field, drawing to a standstill some distance from the treeline. They were dun-colored against the emerald green of the field and the dark brown of the trunks. "Steady," she heard Caesar command from Argo's back, as the villagers stirred restlessly in their formation. At the other end of the field, through the haze of the air, Zagreas's men halted, and milled at a distance. Zagreas was riding up and down the ranks of men, shouting to them. The mass of men was milling around in response to his commands, but Gabrielle could not make out what he was saying. She swallowed, remembering what Caesar had said. After we've thrown back the first assault, he'll have his archers volley, probably with fire-arrows, to provide covering fire while he reorganizes his troops….
And indeed, as she watched, Zagreas's men roiled; lines of men came forward, carrying bows that were larger and heavier than the light hunting bows the villagers carried, with shafts that had cloth wadding wrapped around the end, while behind them, the rest of the army milled around in response to the blue-tattooed warlord's commands. They appeared to be sorting themselves somehow, but Gabrielle didn't know enough to say how. She glanced up at Caesar as a man stepped out from the ranks with a lit brand. There was a pain in her right hand, and it wasn't until Gabrielle looked at it that she saw that her hand was clenched so tightly on Argo's reins that her nails were digging into her palm.
"F—Fire arrows?" she asked Caesar nervously.
He glanced down at her. "Yes." He straightened in Argo's saddle. "Slingers!" he commanded. "Give them something to think about."
Gabrielle heard the whir and hiss of the slingers hurling their missiles, and in the distance, the thuds and cries of the stones hitting their targets. She had no time to look, for a moment later, there was a call of, "Arrows!" and the fire arrows came streaking towards them, flames pale in the noonday sun, in a solid mass. She heard cries and screaming from some of the villagers, and then felt the crackle of flames at her back as something behind her caught.
"Steady!" Caesar called, straightening himself on Argo, as some of the villagers stirred in the ranks. Gabrielle could understand why. Someone's house must have caught, she thought to herself, and automatically turned to see where it was. Even as she was thinking that, she heard more hissing, more crackling, and a second volley of arrows came streaking toward them.
"Andelos's house is hit!" she heard a woman cry.
There was a disturbance in the ranks, but Caesar called again, "Hold your places!" and they subsided. "We don't have time to deal with it now," he said, seeing Gabrielle's look.
One more volley, Gabrielle thought, and indeed, bowstrings twanged a third time across the field, and arrows hissed, piercing the haze. This time, she heard the sickening thunk of shafts hitting bodies, saw some of the villagers drop with flaming shafts embedded in them, smelled the scent of burning flesh. Again, it seemed as if it was something that wasn't quite real. She had never seen a battle before; when Athens had been attacked, she and the rest of the students at the Academy for Performing Bards had hid in the basement; hid there, until the fighting had been done and Xena's soldiers had dragged them out before they fired the place. This can't be happening, she thought to herself, afraid, and wished she were home in Potedaia.
She didn't have long to think about it. At the other end of the field, Zagreas's men were milling again, the archers stepping back into the ranks. Zagreas was still shouting to his army, giving orders, commands that she couldn't hear. Men in armor had come forward during the volleys, and now were stepping together into a block out front, as those who had been archers retreated back into the rest of the army. Those who had come forward were holding swords, carrying shields, their metal equipment sparkling in the bright sunlight. These are the deserters, she realized. These are the tip of the spear.
And apparently Caesar had the same thought. "Told you. This is it," he said, glancing down at her again. "Here they come." He spoke with no particular concern, or even sympathy; he looked out at the mass of men, sorting itself out and now advancing forward, trampling the green turf into mud, with a strange, fixed air. One of….anticipation? Gabrielle wondered. His hand tightened on his sword hilt; Gabrielle could see that his knuckles were white.
The men of Zagreas's army came on across the field, closer and closer, moving relentlessly, inexorably toward the small knot of villagers; the men with glittering armor, shields, and long, shining swords were in the lead, with the rest of the army following behind them. There was something awful about that advance; Gabrielle knotted her hands on Argo's reins, cold inside. The villagers shifted as the members of Zagreas's men came on at a trot; the air crackled with tension.
"Hedgehog. Now," she heard Caesar order, and the spiky logs were released, sent bounding and tumbling down the hill to crash into the advancing wave of men. There were cries and yelps; the villagers cheered as some of Zagreas's men went down under the logs, but not enough, and it didn't stop them. They picked up speed as they drew closer and closer, until the army covered the last few yards at a run to smash into the villagers again in a huge clash and clatter of iron and metal, with their heavy armor and heavy shields leading the way.
"Fall back!" she heard Caesar call above her. "Back! Back and take cover!"
He didn't need to give the order. The villagers were already falling back. Under the assault of armored, shielded men, the cluster of villagers was swaying, bending, breaking like a tree bough. First in ones and twos, then in whole clumps, the villagers began to break, to flee back from the defenses into the heart of the village behind them. Gabrielle at first thought they were panicked, but on looking closer as they streamed past her and Caesar, she saw that wasn't the case. The determination she had sensed about them was still there; she saw no terrified faces, but merely faces that were resolute. They might be abandoning an untenable position, but they hadn't given up. They couldn't hold the defenses, but they weren't beaten. They weren't licked.
She looked at the set expressions of the villagers as they fell back, leading Zagreas's men into the heart of the booby-trapped village, and then glanced up at Caesar. She saw none of that resoluteness in him. Gods, she thought, swallowing. He looks like a runner forcing himself through the last lap of a race already lost. Caesar was watching Zagreas's men with a fixed, distant expression. As the villagers fell back before them, the army was drawing closer and closer to the rise on which she and Caesar and Argo stood.
"Should we go?" she asked, tugging on Argo's reins to attract his attention.
Caesar didn't answer. He was watching the advancing enemy with that strange, distant look as if he were seeing something that wasn't there.
"Come on, we need to go!" she cried. No answer.
Minya passed them, her axe held high, blood up to her arms. "Come on there!" she called to Gabrielle. There was no defeat in her voice; she looked determined and resolute. "Come on, Gaius! Let's go, huh? Lure 'em back!" She gave a cry, and hurdled the body of a fallen man—one of the villagers by the look of it, fallen to a fire arrow.
With a start, Caesar seemed to return to the present. "Yes. Let's go. Back to the tavern," he ordered her. "Come on, get up." With a gulp of relief, Gabrielle swung up on Argo, and felt his hands go around her waist. She put her heels into Argo's sides and rode the mare straight into the village, following Minya.
Zagreas's men were hot on their heels as Argo galloped through the village lanes, and she saw the villagers stopping and taking up positions behind walls, ducking into houses, slipping behind shacks, waiting for them. She heard the shattering of glass and the crackle of flames as some of the lamp-oil bottles Caesar had had them fill the day before were thrown and found their targets; once she heard a crash and loud screaming as one of the traps they had set the day before was triggered and did its work. The tavern was at the far end of the village; its door was open. Gabrielle didn't wait to dismount; with a cry of "Duck!" to Caesar, she drove Argo right through the open door. The mare's hooves clattered on the wooden floorboards, and no sooner than she had hauled the mare to a halt than she heard the heavy wooden door slam behind them.
"Androcles, Taurus, get the shutters!" Minya shouted as she dropped the bar. Gabrielle dimly became aware that they were not alone in the tavern; Ami the tavernkeeper stood against the counter, and two young men whom Gabrielle presumed were Androcles and Taurus were against the far wall. They jerked at Minya's command and came forward, hurrying to pull the shutters closed and plunging the inside of the tavern into darkness. "Ami!" Minya called to the tavernkeeper. "Light a lamp or something." Ami hurried to obey, and the yellow glow of a flickering flame pierced the darkness.
"That'll keep the bastards at bay, but it won't hold 'em for long," Minya said, and whirled to where Gabrielle had jerked Argo to a halt, against the back wall. Argo stood with her head down, ears akimbo, feet splayed out and her tail lashing. Her eyes showed white. Gabrielle, swinging down and landing with a thump, did not know whether it was fear or rage that made the mare so agitated. Argo shied and nearly knocked over a chair; Gabrielle took the reins and tried to soothe her, though it was difficult to do so through her own agitation.
"Gaius!" Minya demanded, swinging on Caesar. "Whaddaya got for us?" She paused. "Gaius?"
Caesar was clumsily dismounting as Minya spoke. His mangled legs gave under him as soon as they touched the floor, and he nearly fell; he saved himself by clutching Argo's saddle horn. The mare jerked away, nearly pulling the reins from Gabrielle's hands, and her head came up, nearly striking a hanging lantern. "Gaius!" Minya said again to his unresponsive back; Gabrielle, watching, saw his shoulders tighten. "What do we do?"
"Yeah, Gaius!" cried the young man that Gabrielle remembered was Taurus, one of the trackers from the day before, while Androcles asked, "Yeah, Gaius, how are we gonna get out of this one?"
After a long moment, Caesar slowly turned to face them. Gabrielle was shocked by what she saw. His face was pale, rough-hewn; his eyes were hollow, empty. Again, she thought he looked like an exhausted marathoner. After a pause, he said curtly, "We don't."
There was silence in the tavern for a few moments, with only the sounds of shouting and clashing from the outside resounding through the interior. Gabrielle, quickly scanning the faces of the villagers, was surprised, even through her own fear, at their reactions. After a long glance at each other, Minya and Ami nodded slowly, with long exhales. They shared the same expression; they looked strained but with an even greater determination; the elation had left Minya's face, but the resolve was still there—if anything, it had hardened. They almost looked, Gabrielle thought, as if they had somehow been expecting such an outcome. It was only Androcles and Taurus, the two young men, who looked shocked—shocked and betrayed.
"We don't?" Androcles asked, horrified. "What do you mean we don't?"
"Yeah!" Taurus's eyes were wide. "How can you say that? You must be able to think of something."
Caesar shrugged, leaning against Argo's side. He didn't speak. His shoulders tightened still further, and Gabrielle saw a muscle quivering along his jaw.
"Androcles," Minya began carefully.
Androcles wasn't listening. "There must be something we can do!" he said, stepping forward, staring at Caesar desperately.
"Yeah!" Taurus chimed in; he had paled suddenly. "How can you say that! You got us into this," he said with the beginning of anger, "and you have to get us out!"
"Androcles, Taurus, settle down," Ami ordered.
Caesar flicked the two young men a glance. He pushed slowly away from Argo's side, moving as if he were exhausted, and lurched forward to the center of the tavern, to take a seat on a chair facing the door. He dropped into the chair as if he had just given the last of his strength. "There's nothing to do," he said after a moment. "This is it. This is the end."
Silence. Outside the fighting had swirled closer. Gabrielle heard distant crashing and shrieks, as well as the clang of steel on steel and the roar of flames. She had a brief moment of gratitude that the tavern was stone—at least they won't be able to burn it, she thought. Argo whickered and tried to shy again, and Gabrielle rubbed her nose, desperately trying to quiet the horse.
Androcles and Taurus stared at each other, then quickly looked at Minya and Ami. Both the older women looked grim, but not angry; they looked as if they were setting themselves for a hard task. The young men looked back at each other, then turned on Caesar both at the same time.
"Nothing?" Taurus asked desperately. "How can there be nothing?" Caesar didn't answer, but that muscle kept twitching in his jaw. Taurus continued, "You said you could help us! We believed in you! I believed in you! And now you're saying that was a lie? How can there be nothing!"
Gabrielle bit her lip, remembering the events of last week. Despite everything, bad as everything was, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of pity for Caesar.
At the same time, Androcles was shouting,"You're telling us we're in a situation where all we can do is die? All we can do is just wait for death? How could you let this happen? How could you—"
And Caesar cracked.
He went with a snap so dramatic it was almost audible. His spine straightened as if he had been galvanized; his black eyes flashed with fury, and he turned on the two youths so sharply they visibly flinched back from across the room.
"Shut up," Caesar snarled at them. "Just shut up! You don't know anything about anything!" he shouted at them furiously; his voice was raw and ragged around the edges, and rapidly developing into a full-throated roar. "This whole damn thing was hopeless from the start and you should have known it! You asked me to do the impossible! It's impossible!" he shouted, and Gabrielle didn't know if he meant that for her too. "Your lousy, shitty little village couldn't be saved! Well, I'm done. You hear me? I'm done! I've done all I can do and I'm not doing any more! Not for you, and not for her!" He turned and slashed one hand at Gabrielle as if he were reaching for her throat. "So if you want to get out of here, you think of something because I quit!" he almost screamed.
He stopped abruptly, out of breath, his dark eyes fiery. The echoes of his shouting still rang inside the tavern; Argo whinnied and tried to rear, nearly yanking Gabrielle's arm out of her socket. Taurus and Androcles had drawn all the way back against the far wall, pale, their eyes wide; they actually seemed to be trembling. Caesar turned away from them, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes, with an air of shutting out the world. Gabrielle was stunned; while she'd heard Caesar shout before, she'd never seen him completely lose it like that. The contrast to his normal, icily controlled manner made it somehow even more chilling. She quickly looked over at Minya and Ami, to see that they were exchanging long glances in the sudden silence.
"Androcles, Taurus," Minya said at last. "That's enough." Her voice was flat. She closed her eyes and gave a long sigh, then looked over at Caesar with an odd sort of almost—compassion? Gabrielle wondered. It occurred to her that Minya—that all these villagers—must be familiar with defeat by now. "It's all right," Minya said now to Caesar, speaking quietly. "It's all right, really it is. I think—I kinda knew anyway, deep down, that we didn't really have a chance, not really; it was just—it was sorta nice to fool myself for a while, that's all." The calmness of her voice was heartbreaking. "Fact, I think most of us villagers really did kinda know somehow that we—that we were only kidding ourselves. Isn't that right, Ami?"
"Yeah," Ami said quietly. "We know better than that. We never had a chance before, why should now be any different? That's not the way the world works. Things like villagers being able to fight off warlords don't really happen, not in this world. It was kind of fun to pretend for a while….but yeah. We knew. Somehow we knew." Her voice was like Minya's. She did not speak in anger, not in grief, not in fear, not in blame; the two older women spoke with a sort of dreadful, fatalistic acceptance that tore at Gabrielle's soul.
"Yeah. We knew. Still…." Minya paused. "It was nice to have someone who could show us how to do something besides….jus' stand around and wait to be killed, you know?" Her mouth twisted. "Least this way we get ta take some o' the bastards down with us, stead of just linin up like sheep for the slaughter." Ami nodded behind her. Minya tossed off a shrug. "So….thanks, Gaius!" she said with a brave, bright, and absolutely beautiful smile. "Even if you couldn't save us. You gave it your best shot, and it was a damn good one—much better than anything we coulda come up with. Thanks for everything," she said, and there was real warmth in her voice.
"Yeah. Thanks," Ami echoed just as warmly. Minya lifted her axe, and Ami the long cleaver she'd been carrying, and the two of them smiled at each other.
Caesar neither opened his eyes nor responded in any way, sitting silent and sullen on his chair in the middle of the tavern floor. For Gabrielle's part, she was almost stunned by the two women's declarations. The courage—the heart—in Minya's speech brought tears to her eyes. She had lost, lost a fight that was stacked against her in a thousand ways and one that she had no prayer of winning. Not in this world. She and Ami had lost; they knew it; and they were not angry. They had the courage to accept their eventual fate, and they were ready to do what they could in the time remaining to them.
Gabrielle had heard the word hero in bardic tales a thousand times. The heroes of Troy, the hero Ulysses, the hero Aeneas. She had sometimes thought about what exactly the qualifications were to be a hero; from what the bardic tales described, it had always seemed to her that many of the heroes were so-called simply by virtue of how many enemies they could kill in battle. She wouldn't wonder anymore. Jett had told her a week ago that there were no heroes anymore, but in that moment, Gabrielle realized that he was wrong. Right now, she thought, I am looking at two heroes. Only commoners, not great warriors, not valiant or strong or accomplished; no songs would be sung about them, no tales told, no stories written. But heroes, nonetheless. And as she looked at them, and contemplated who they were and what they were about to do, her own fear seemed silly and childish; it lifted off her as the morning mist had burned off the battlefield in the heat of the sun, leaving only a calm resolve behind.
She reached behind her and pulled the hatchet out from where she had stuck it through her belt. Her prior squeamishness about carrying the weapon seemed very distant from her now. If she had to use it, well, she'd use it; she'd already killed once, and she had nothing left to lose in that way. She couldn't refuse to soil her hands and do nothing while Minya and Ami went down to defeat; the strength and gallantry they'd shown demanded a like response from her. Men were coming to kill her and her friends. She didn't intend to let them if she could help it. And though in the end she'd go down, she could do as Minya and Ami had demonstrated their willingness to do, and at least go down swinging. She glanced over at Taurus and Androcles, to see what they thought, and saw that they too had calmed; that resolve that Minya and Ami were showing had communicated itself to them too.
Taurus caught her look. "We'll give 'em something to think about," he said quietly.
"That we will," Androcles agreed, his jaw firming.
Just then, the door began to shudder.
The thick oaken planks bounced in their wooden frame, shivering under the impact of repeated blows. The ring of axes biting into wood echoed throughout the tavern; Argo threw up her head and whickered.
"That's not going to hold for very long!" Minya announced. "We need to get ready!" She shouldered her own axe, and Ami took a better grip on her cleaver. Gabrielle lifted her hatchet. All thought and emotion had gone out of her; there was no room left for anything but anticipation.
The blows kept falling on the door, the metal of axes ringing with the shock of contact with the thick oaken planks. Minya and Ami took up positions on either side of the door, weapons at the ready; Taurus and Androcles moved forward to support them. Taurus was holding a pitchfork in his hands, while Androcles had picked up a bottle to throw. Argo was rearing and whickering at the thudding of the blows on the door; her head struck the hanging lantern and set it to swinging, and Gabrielle was nearly pulled off her feet. As she pulled the horse back down with her free hand—the hatchet was still clenched in the other—there was a splintering crash from the front of the room, and the door burst inward.
Minya took the first man through the door down with a cry, swinging her axe at his face; he went down, spraying blood, and a pool of red washed across the rough floorboards. Androcles's hurled bottle caught the second one in the stomach, knocking him back, and he staggered back out into the lane beyond, gasping. Ami's cleaver came down and scrawled a bloody gash down the side of the third man, and Gabrielle thought wildly to herself, We might have a chance—
But the third man was not down; he turned with an ugly snarl and swung his long sword right at Ami's head. Ami didn't try to block it with her little cleaver, which probably saved her life; she flung herself backward instead—nearly tangling in the body of the man Minya had downed—and avoided the slash. But the man lunged into the space she had recently vacated, and a fourth, with tangled black hair and a gold earring, and fifth, with light brown hair caught back in a ponytail, burst through the door behind him. More men followed—a sixth, a seventh, an eighth—and Gabrielle could see still more pressing up behind them through the door outside. Just then, she heard hacking coming from the shutters. Oh gods, if they start coming through the windows—
Taurus had backed to the corner beside Ami and he now lashed out with a foot, kicking a heavy oaken table onto its side to serve as a crude shield for the two of them. He jabbed his pitchfork at the man with the earring, advancing on him; the rusty tines caught him in the stomach, and he gave a gurgling cry before dropping, holding his belly. Minya had been driven back behind the heavy stone counter and was swinging her long-handled axe at all who came near, shrieking like a hawk, while Androcles sheltered behind her and to her left; he had grabbed wine bottles and cups from behind the bar and was pelting them at anyone he could see. Shattered glass fragments littered the floor, and pools of dark red wine, looking almost like blood in the dim interior of the tavern. Gabrielle was trying to maneuver herself and Argo into a better position, when with a wild squeal, Argo succeeded in yanking the reins right out of Gabrielle's grasp.
Up the mare reared, up, up, screaming, her eyes showing white all the way around; she was impossibly large in the small, dark space. She reared up, stretching high, almost striking her head on the low ceiling; then fell like a thunderbolt from heaven, smashing her hooves onto the head of the dirty-faced man in front of them. He was wearing a metal helmet, but it helped him not at all; there was a crunching sound, the helmet crumpled like paper, and he dropped like a stone at her feet. Without a moment's pause, the mare slammed her front hooves to the floor and whirled on her forelegs, lashing out with her powerful back hooves; another man, with a shaved head and a gold tooth, caught a blow to the chest. He went flying across the room to slam into the wall beside Ami and Taurus; he twitched once, then lay still.
With a lunge, Gabrielle hurdled a chair and flung herself over a table to get out of Argo's way; the mare was rearing, plunging, biting, her screams ringing in the confines of the tavern. Chairs and tables splintered at contact with her hooves, and attackers went flying left and right as she struck at them; even Zagreas's men were backing off from the wild horse. No sense trying to grab her or restrain her, Gabrielle thought to herself; that mare is worth another four men. Eight!
The next moment, she tripped and went sprawling on the floor next to Caesar's chair. A awkward, unplanned roll saved her from a spearthrust to the back, and she came to her feet with the hatchet still in her hand in time to see Androcles hurl a stone cup across the room at the man who had been attacking her. It struck him right between the eyes and he went down.
Caesar had not moved or responded in any way during the fighting; he simply sat there, his eyes closed, arms folded across his chest, looking for all the world like a sullen six-year-old as the struggle raged around him. The attackers seemed to be ignoring him too, perhaps thinking it was best to deal with the combative opponents before the one who was just sitting there, but Gabrielle had no faith in that to last long. "Get up!" Gabrielle shouted at him. She had to yell to be heard above the din: Argo was screaming; Zagreas's men were grunting and cursing; Minya and the other defenders were shrieking defiance. "You have to get up!" Gabrielle shouted at him again. Caesar gave no sign that he had even heard.
Suddenly, Minya's hawk-shriek behind her cut off in a choked cry. Without another thought, Gabrielle whipped around to see what had happened, when a powerful blow struck her upside the head and sent her sprawling full-length; she felt the side of her face strike the tavern floor. She didn't lose consciousness, but it was a near thing; the world grayed out around her; she was dazed, stunned, unable to remember what was going on.
Where am I? she thought in a dizzy, wandering way; it certainly was loud. Couldn't be Potedaia; Potedaia was quiet, peaceful, a gentle, sunny she be in her room at the Academy? Was Xena's army attacking the city? The bardic elders had said the Daughter of War would never get past their defenders, but Gabrielle hadn't believed them, and most of the populace hadn't either. Was that what all the noise was….? But if she was there, then why was her bed so hard? Slowly, she forced open her eyes, then dizzily rolled them to look up at the scene before her.
Everything looked crazily skewed to her, like a picture or mosaic where the pieces didn't fit together right; it took a moment for her to resolve what she was seeing. A man was standing before her. He was very tall, dressed in scruffy brown, carrying a long sword, with a rusty, dented helmet on his head. He was not looking at her; in fact, he wasn't facing her at all. He was standing in a rectangle of light, slanting in through the open door, illuminating both him and the man he faced. Caesar, Gabrielle remembered after a moment. That's right. That's Caesar. Caesar was still—still? Yes, still—sitting in his chair, arms folded. The scene stood out very clearly to Gabrielle, outlined in three dimensions. There was noise in the background, crashes, bashes and screaming, but they were dim, distant. All her attention was on what she could see.
The man looked down at Caesar. It must have lasted only a second or two, maybe even less than that, but it felt to Gabrielle as if everything was happening in slow motion. Goaded by some instinct, Caesar opened his eyes and raised his head. His mouth was tight, and he stared up at the man with a look Gabrielle instinctively recognized—a look of disdain and something else—impatience, perhaps? As the man drew back his sword, Caesar made no move to defend himself; he simply remained still, glaring up at the man who would be his death.
Something was in Gabrielle's hand, something heavy and smooth. She was too disoriented to remember what it was; nor somehow did it seem to matter. She rolled to her knees and swung whatever was in her hand at the man menacing Caesar. She did not do this with any conscious intent to injure the man; it was the same panicky, repelling motion of someone swinging a shovel at a bat, meaning to knock the thing away as much as to hurt it. It wasn't until she saw the blade going into the man's back that she realized she held a hatchet.
The handle was yanked from her grasp as the man collapsed to the floor, the blade still embedded in his back. Gabrielle froze, trying through her confusion and disorientation to process what had happened and figure out what it meant; her head was throbbing as if it would split, and her thoughts felt thick and slow. Her eyes automatically went to Caesar for help, and found none there; he looked….Royally pissed off, she thought, remembering one of her friends' favorite expressions when they had been students together at the Bardic Academy. Annoyed, that's it. He looks annoyed. Their eyes met for a moment; then Caesar's dark gaze shifted fractionally. "Behind you," he said coldly.
She didn't get a chance to turn before she was grabbed by her hair, yanked to her feet and flung violently against the rough wall of the tavern. More pain lanced through her throbbing head; her limbs suddenly felt weak as water, and her eyes wandered for a moment as the world swam out of focus. When it came back, her eyes fixed on a face close to hers—a man with pale, freckled skin and scruffy blonde hair, and eyes as green as her own only much colder. His mouth was twisted in anger, and he snarled, "You killed Artus!" As Gabrielle was trying to make sense of his words—Artus? Artus? Who's Artus? her wandering mind thought vaguely—the blonde man raised his hands. He held an axe, she saw, and felt this should be important somehow, but couldn't remember why. The man drew the axe back….
….and then suddenly the point of a dagger was sticking out of his neck below his chin.
As the man collapsed to the ground, Gabrielle finally saw something that she recognized; and this thing confused her still further.
"Jett?"
The calm-eyed assassin stooped to retrieve his dagger, wiping it on the fallen man's shirt. "Yes, it's me," he said, as easily as if there was nothing in the world surprising about it.
"But….but…." Gabrielle could only falter for a moment; her thoughts felt as if they were moving through honey, and her tongue was clumsy. How is he here? How is he "Am I….dead?" she managed after a moment. She could hear that her words were lightly slurred.
Jett smiled at her briefly. "No, Gabrielle, you're not dead," he promised. He slipped his dagger back up his sleeve. As he did, Gabrielle suddenly became aware of two things—that the interior of the tavern had fallen mostly silent, except for low moaning, and that a low, rolling, rumbling sound was coming in from outside.
What….? None of it made sense; her thoughts were too slow, and the pain in her head was making her dizzy and sick to her stomach. What's going on? Her eyes went instinctively to Caesar, and found him; he glanced at her briefly and then looked away. Her gaze roamed jerkily around the rest of the tavern; but in her disoriented state it looked like something out of a fever dream; there were people lying down, and people standing up, and Argo back against the wall, and blood and wine and broken glass everywhere, but she could make sense of none of it. It was as if she were looking at puzzle pieces that didn't go together. There was something about someone she should be worried about, but she couldn't remember who it was. Her head hurt too bad. Unsteadily, she turned to Jett.
"What's going on?" It didn't sound like her voice. Outside, she could hear the rumbling getting louder.
Jett smiled at her again. "Come on, I'll show you." One hand gently on her arm, Jett guided her to the door, then turned her until they were looking out into the bright light. Gabrielle moved painfully with faltering steps, and squinted against the sun.
Outside, as her eyes adjusted, she realized all was chaos. Brown-clad, scruffy men were running in panic through the lanes of the village, shouting and cursing and screaming at each other; it took her a moment to realize that these were the men they had been fighting. Zagreas's men, she realized; the name returned to her distantly. These are Zagreas's men. Many of them carried weapons unsheathed and bloody; many of them had arms full of valuables, necklaces, candlesticks, cups, while others carried chickens under their arms; clearly they had been in the act of looting and pillaging. Now, however, they were mostly running in fear.
The source of the rumbling she had been hearing now became clear, as she saw that mounted riders were galloping through the village, in armor and on horseback, slashing as they rode at the men on foot, with long curving swords. There were many of the mounted men, and they rode together in groups, moving like an inexorable force, driving Zagreas's motley band of riffraff before them like dust in the wind. Gabrielle was mesmerized by the speed and precision of their movements, and would have stood there all day staring at the horse-mounted men, but Jett touched her lightly on the arm.
"Look," he said quietly, and pointed.
Gabrielle looked where he pointed, and saw it: a tall, slender helmeted figure dressed in scale armor and mounted on a brown horse came galloping at incredible speed down the center lane. This new rider also brandished a long, curving sword, unstained; the blade flashed brilliantly. "Take them alive, men! Take them as prisoners! Don't kill if you don't have to!" The words rang back from the village walls, echoing like a bugle call in the clarion air. The horse was as swift and fluid as Argo, and together horse and rider moved as if they were invincible, unstoppable, as if there were no force on earth that could resist them or even get in their way. It was inconceivable, watching them, that anyone would even try. Gabrielle had seen something like that twice before. She stood, staring in awe.
"Hey!" Jett called as the mounted figure went thundering past, and the rider's head turned.
"Jett!" With a yank, the brown horse pulled up short. The rider dismounted, swinging easily down, moving with a grace and perfection of motion that took Gabrielle's breath away, then reached up and removed the helmet. At the same moment, the sun broke through the clouds, and illuminated horse and rider in a brilliant shaft of dazzling light. She had guessed it, but Gabrielle caught her breath all the same as she saw the rider was a woman.
The woman had bright blonde hair, cut short to fit under her helmet, and narrow piercing blue eyes set in a face darkened by long exposure to harsh sun, fierce winds, and airborne sand. She was not beautiful with the unearthly beauty of Xena, or Callisto, but there was something about her utterly arresting, a grandeur that caught the eye and compelled the onlooker's attention. Like Xena and Callisto, she carried about her a superhuman aura, a presence, a radiant charisma that almost visibly shimmered in the air around her, spilling outward from her to illuminate all she touched. Gabrielle had thought Caesar had personal magnetism. It was nothing compared to the sheer power of this woman. Not even close. There were only two others who could stand beside her. Gabrielle couldn't stop looking at her. Her limbs felt weak, whether with the headache, with attraction, with fear, she couldn't tell. She didn't need Jett's shouted greeting to know who she was looking at; it could be no one else.
Najara.
To be continued
