After Xena had chosen her, Gabrielle spent the remains of that day with Xena's quartermaster, being measured and outfitted for her new position. "Good luck," the quartermaster had told her, not without sympathy. "I hope you last longer than the previous one."
"What happened to the previous one?" Gabrielle asked, swallowing nervously, but the man simply shook his head and refused to say.
She spent the night in the tiny tent they had given her, tossing and turning, too apprehensive to sleep; when she woke the next morning, she saw that her clothes had already been laid out—a simple white gown, banded in blue around the neck, wrists, and hem, with golden sandals and heavy golden bracelets, necklace and belt.
Some food had been placed out for her as well—a tray with bread, fruit and cheese—but Gabrielle's stomach was too queasy to eat; she dressed herself and waited, chewing her lip, until there was a scratch at her tent flap. "The Dark Conqueror has sent for you," the guard said, when Gabrielle saw him. "Come at once." Gabrielle, who had no idea what she might have been summoned for, could only respond.
At least no one else had to die, she told herself as she followed the guard the short distance to the Daughter of War's command tent; the memory of her companions the night before was fresh in her mind. At least I saved them.
Xena was taking breakfast when Gabrielle came to her; the Dark Conqueror was seated at her command table, dining on fruit and eggs and honeyed cakes. The fine silver dishes looked out of place against the rough and splintered wood of the table; Gabrielle recognized some of them as Academy silver, and guessed that even the ones she did not recognize had been looted. The Destroyer of Nations looked up as Gabrielle came in.
"There you are. Come closer, you don't have to be afraid."
Easy for you to say, Gabrielle thought, moving to stand where Xena indicated, at her side. Simply the presence of the Destroyer of Nations enthralled her.
"What's your name?"
"Gabrielle of Potedaia. My lady," she added. Xena smiled. Her smile was dazzling, Gabrielle realized, so bright she almost forgot to fear.
"What did you do before my men found you?"
"I was a novice at the Athenian Academy of Performing Bards," Gabrielle answered, proud that she kept her voice from shaking.
The Dark Conqueror raised one brow. "A bard, is that right? At least you should know some entertaining stories."
"M-maybe so, my lady."
"Maybe later, you can entertain me. For now, stand beside me and serve," she commanded Gabrielle, indicating the table.
Gabrielle took up her place at Xena's right hand. At this distance, the charisma of the Destroyer of Nations was almost overwhelming; Gabrielle couldn't take her eyes off her. She barely noticed the stream of generals and messengers that came to speak to the Daughter of War, issuing her troop reports and movement reports, or conveying offerings from local leaders desperate to buy her goodwill. From time to time, Xena would turn to her and command her, "Refill my wine cup," or "Fetch me some of those honey cakes." Once or twice she would offer Gabrielle to try a morsel that she thought was particularly delectable; Gabrielle didn't dare refuse. She found herself thinking, If this is what serving the Dark Conqueror is like, then it shouldn't be too difficult.
At last, Xena rose from the table. "I'll be gone for most of the day, Gabrielle—I'm taking a detachment of men to the east. Have my horse readied. She's a palomino mare, named Argo." She smiled that small smile, though it never touched her eyes. "Tell her I sent you," she added.
"Yes, my queen," Gabrielle replied, eyes downcast.
"You can go wherever you want in the camp until I return—my troops won't harm you; they'll know that my favor protects you. Just make sure my tent is cleaned and straightened by the time I return, and I may want you to serve at my table for dinner, depending on how late I get back."
"Yes, my queen." It seemed the safest thing to say.
"Any questions before I go to collect my men?"
"One." Gabrielle's heart was in her throat; she hadn't intended to speak. "The quartermaster mentioned….he wished me luck and said he hoped I lasted longer than 'the previous one.'" She swallowed. "What—if I may, what—"
Her voice died as the Daughter of War turned an icy glare on her. "I'm sorry," Gabrielle hastened to say in a small, meek voice.
"Go ready Argo." The Dark Conqueror's words were frighteningly cold. With that, Xena turned, took up her sword from its place across the top of a trunk, and stalked out of the tent.
Xena had promised Gabrielle free run of the encampment, but Gabrielle was nervous; the Dark Conqueror had claimed that her favor would protect Gabrielle, but the young bard didn't know how true that was. Nevertheless, eventually she plucked up her courage and dared to leave her tent, to explore the encampment outside.
Gabrielle had never been in a military encampment before; everything she saw was new to her. Xena had been correct, however; the soldiers Gabrielle passed all stood aside for her, and if some of the looks they gave her were less than respectful, they were only looks. The Dark Conqueror's favor was a potent charm protecting her.
She didn't like being outside though. Soldiers were everywhere, marching in columns, and while Xena's favor protected her, she found them intimidating to say the least. Once she turned a corner to see soldiers dicing; one glanced down at the throw revealed under his leather dice cup, cursed, and drew a dagger, lunging at his opponent. He managed to get a good slash in before an officer stepped in between them; Gabrielle hurriedly backed away as the captain and his men took the knifer into custody. Columns of captives were being herded through the lanes between the tents, all looking dispirited and miserable, and in the background, Athens was still burning. Gabrielle tried not to look at the prisoners, lest she see the face of someone she knew; she did once, two of her fellow trainees at the Academy. Their eyes met hers. One of them looked shocked and angry to see Gabrielle in her finery; the other one gave her a sympathetic glance, perhaps understanding that Gabrielle had no more control over her fate than they did.
The assembly ground was filled with hurrying people; men and women about their errands, rumbling carts piled high with booty and supplies. Xena's throne was where it had been the night before, under its awning, she saw when she passed through the assembly ground; she had overheard that it was so heavy it required a wagon and team of eight horses to drag it from place to place. The prisoner who had been chained there yesterday was still there, she saw; he was curled up asleep in a pool of sunlight. She wondered who he was, or had been.
On the east side of the camp, away from the city, she saw Xena's men erecting hundreds of crosses, "for the city leaders," she overheard. They stood in black outline against the sky, and guarded in chains around the base were the poor men and women who would go up on them. They looked lost, bewildered, numb—Gabrielle's heart felt like it was being torn in two to see them there, and the thought of what would happen to them was unbearable to her. She knew that there was nothing she could do to stop it.
One of them called out to her, "Young miss, water, please!" Gabrielle started forward, only to be stopped by a young guard with dark curls.
"Stay back," he said, glaring at her. "Dark Conqueror's orders." His armor and helmet gleamed like new, and his sword looked very sharp; Gabrielle swallowed and tried not to think about it
"She said I'm not to be harmed," Gabrielle tried to argue.
The soldier looked her up and down, then raised an eyebrow. "So you're her new girl!" he said, seeming coarsely amused; then, "No exceptions. Best run along, girl—you wouldn't want to get her mad at you, now would you?"
Gabrielle's heart went cold within her and the strength seemed to go out of her limbs. She turned away from the chained prisoners, doing her best to ignore their pleading eyes. Walking away was the hardest thing she had ever done.
Maybe I'll find the healers, she thought to herself. She had already finished the chores Xena had set her. She had had training in a hospice in Potedaia, had come within a hairsbreadth of apprenticing before she had decided to attend the academy. If she found the healers, maybe she could help with the wounded. It would be better than wandering the camp, uselessly, waiting for Xena to come back. At least I can do something….
But when she met with the healers, she encountered the same thing. They were not at all like the healers she had known around Potedaia; they were rough, coarse men, poorly dressed and scarred in ways that better befitted warriors than those in the healing arts. She could see some of the Athenian healers among them—the Academy healer, Pallonia, was bent over a fallen soldier; she looked exhausted and bitter, with dark circles under her eyes, and her soothing, reassuring manner was nowhere in evidence as she tended his wounds. The white-haired man Xena's men had pulled from the street was there too; his face twitched nervously as he probed the wound of a man twice his size, and at a particularly deep probe, the man roared out in pain and knocked him to the ground. "Watch what you're doing!" the soldier snarled.
The master healer was a short, bandy-legged man with a barrel chest and a nasty scar down his cheek; he rubbed his bald head while listening to Gabrielle's plea, and then curtly dismissed it. "You're Xena's girl. We don't want none of Xena's girls with us. The Dark Conqueror sees you here and don't like it, could mean our lives. And yours if you're not careful."
"I could just tend to the citizens, if you think Xena wouldn't like me treating her soldiers—" Gabrielle began.
The head healer thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard; he laughed for what felt like a quarter of an hour straight. Gabrielle stood there in the dusty tent, wishing miserably she were somewhere else. "Treat the citizens. Oh, that's funny. You're a funny one, you are," he said, grinning. "You might last a bit longer'n usual. Look little girl," he told her, "We don't treat no citizens here."
"But what about the healers' oath?" Gabrielle insisted, standing her ground. "Didn't….didn't you swear before the gods that you'll treat any who comes to you without stint or price—"
The man spat roughly between his teeth. "Gods? What gods? Only oath I know is the one I took to the Dark Conqueror," he said, grinning. "She's more'n a match for any god you care to name. Now run along, little girl, before the Destroyer of Nations catches ya."
Sunk in despondency, she wandered back the way she had come. What kind of a place is this? she wondered. What happens to Xena's other girls? What did I let myself in for?
She hadn't noticed she had come to the open assembly space, nor where she was walking, until her feet tangled in something and she tripped and almost fell. A startled choke off to her left caught her attention and she turned to see that she was in front of Xena's Dragon Throne.
What she had tripped over was the chain running from the collar of that prisoner, the one she had noticed before, to the base of the throne; now the man sat up, clutching at the collar with his chained hands and coughing. She had pulled the collar right against his throat. "I'm sorry!" Gabrielle cried. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"Are you stupid, or just clumsy?" the prisoner demanded angrily when he could speak again. "Watch where you're walking!"
"I didn't—I didn't see you there," Gabrielle faltered. "I didn't—"
"So you're blind as well as stupid and clumsy. Well, I can certainly understand what Xena sees in you." He began pulling in the chain attached to his collar, and Gabrielle almost tripped again as it slithered through the dust and drew in around her ankles. She skipped back just in time. "Watch yourself," he told her with that strange edged smile that she had seen the night before.
Gabrielle studied him curiously. Whoever he was, she knew that he must be important to the Daughter of War, or else Xena would not have bothered to keep him like this. But she could see no clue in his appearance. His hair and eyes were coal-black, as she had noticed previously, and he was dressed in a filthy, ragged tunic, light-years away from the clean white gown Xena had provided for her. Now that she saw his legs up close, she could better gauge the damage there; they were so twisted and mangled that they made her sick, a little, to look at them. The heavy chains he bore on his neck and wrists were the mark of a slave, but there was nothing at all servile in his bearing; as he looked her over, Gabrielle got the distinct impression that she was coming up very, very short in his internal estimation. After a moment, he folded his arms across his chest as best he could with the manacles.
"So you're her new bit of fluff," he said at last, with a contemptuous smile.
That air of dismissal stung her; it had been a long and stressful day. "You know, I didn't want this!" Gabrielle cried. "For a slave, you've got some attitude."
His dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't call me that."
"Why not?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. "It's what you are, isn't it?"
His eyes narrowed further. He reached out and gripped one of the poles that held the awning over the throne, supporting himself on it as he rose to his feet, dragging himself up hand over hand. She wondered how he could stand to put any weight at all on his mangled legs. Because of those legs, he was nowhere near as tall as he might have been otherwise, when he finally did get to his feet, leaning heavily on the awning pole—taller than her, but not as tall as Xena. She guessed he might have been Xena's height or more before the accident.
"I am not," he repeated, each word as distinct as if it were carved with chisels, "a slave." He held her eyes furiously, and Gabrielle flinched before the anger she saw there.
"I'm sorry," she hastened to apologize, "I didn't think—"
"Then you shouldn't speak," he told her curtly.
"But—if you're not a slave—what are you?"
He gave a bitter smile. "If the Dark Conqueror wants you to know, she'll tell you."
"I—I just was wondering who—"
"He's nobody. Isn't that right, slave?"
At those words, Gabrielle jumped, and the prisoner flinched. They turned to see Xena behind them. She had come up so suddenly that neither of them had noticed; she was seated on the back of her palomino mare—Argo, Gabrielle remembered she had said her name was. Her armor gleamed in the dull light from the overcast sky, and her face was set in that impenetrable mask.
"My—my lady," Gabrielle stammered. "I didn't—I didn't expect you back so soon—" Xena flickered her a glance, and something that might have been a smile played around the edges of her lips.
She swung down easily from Argo, and advanced on the two of them. "We ran into a scouting party of the Bright Warrior's and returned with captives. Have you been talking to this slave, Gabrielle?" The prisoner's jaw twitched at those words, Gabrielle saw; he glared at her furiously, but held his silence. "He's really a little creature, once you get to know him; he'll try his small tricks on anyone he thinks might be stupid enough to fall for him. I hope you're not. But he's mostly harmless, long as you keep him in his place—chained like a dog at the feet of his masters." She turned that cool expression on him.
The prisoner's shoulders tightened; he responded through clenched teeth, "I might say the same about you."
Smiling slightly, Xena drew back and casually kicked him in his shattered lower legs. The prisoner gave a hoarse cry and collapsed. Gabrielle involuntarily gasped in horror. "Please—Xena, don't—"
Xena turned to look at her, and Gabrielle stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"My tent better be in order, Gabrielle," was all she said.
"Yes, my lady," she whispered. "It is, my lady." She said nothing more. It seemed safest.
"Very well." As the Dark Conqueror turned, Gabrielle took her life in her hands. Not knowing when she might get another opportunity, she spoke up.
"I—I have some healing training—"
The Dark Conqueror looked back at her. She didn't seem angry.
"I was—well, I was just wondering….if I could assist your surgeons. After I've done all the chores you set me," Gabrielle was quick to add.
Xena looked at her for a long moment, her eyes veiled; Gabrielle could make out nothing of what might lie behind there. She waited. Even standing there in thought, Xena was awe-inspiring.
After a long moment, Xena frowned as if trying to figure something out. "You want to—work with the healers? Why? It's filthy, bloody work, exhausting and not very interesting. Why would you want to go work with the surgeons?"
Gabrielle bit her lip, wondering what she should say; somehow she found herself telling Xena the simple truth. "I can't stand to see people suffering," she said at last.
Xena looked at her for a long time. Something flickered behind those blue eyes; Gabrielle could not guess what, but felt a strange touch of sympathy for the Dark Conqueror. "Sure," she said at last. "I'll tell them myself." She swung back up onto Argo and touched her heels to her horse's sides.
As she rode off, Gabrielle swung back toward the slave. He had managed to drag himself over to the bottom step of her throne and was huddled against it, holding his legs and trembling in pain. She hurried to his side, horrified anew at Xena's casual brutality toward him.
"Are—are you all right?" she faltered, unsure what to do, if anything—she had no equipment with which to help him.
"Get away from me!" he snarled up at her, his dark eyes furious; Gabrielle flinched back with a start.
"I'm sorry, I just—" she stammered, not knowing what to say. "I wanted to help, I—" She stood there helplessly, feeling useless, while the slave fought to control himself. Eventually, his spasms subsided and he looked at her bitterly.
"Have you seen enough yet, or are you going to stand there all day with that stupid cow-look on your face?"
"I just wanted to help," she repeated.
"You…wanted…to help." He made it sound like the stupidest thing he had ever heard. His dark eyes glinted, and Gabrielle recognized the light in them; it was the look of someone about to ease his own pain by passing his hurt onto others. After a moment, he pushed himself up on his arms, leaning heavily against the bottom step.
"So. Xena's new bit of fluff," he repeated contemptuously, then gave a cold smile. "I hope your affairs are in order."
"What….what do you mean?" Gabrielle felt herself shiver. The slave saw her discomfort and that glint in his eyes grew stronger.
"Did you think you were the first bit on the side Xena's had?" he demanded, and gave a short laugh. "Hardly. That little scene that you went through yesterday? She does that in every town she passes through—takes a girl to be her slave. Always blonde, and usually quite young. She's had a hundred girls if she's had one. Most of the girls she takes last a week, maybe two if they're lucky. Some have made it to three," he added, "and a very few have lasted an entire month. They're the exceptions, though—and nobody's ever made it longer than that." He gave a mirthless, bitter laugh. "Except for me, of course. She's had me five years. Make no mistake, little girl," he told her with that thin smile. "You got her attention with that stunt you pulled, but you won't keep it for long. She will tire of you eventually, and when she does, she'll toss you aside like an old rag."
"Toss—toss me aside?" The slave said nothing, but watched, waiting; she sensed a cold pleasure from him at her obvious fear. Gabrielle didn't want to ask—she didn't want to know—but she had to. He would tell her, of that she felt sure; he was waiting to tell her. "What will she do to me?" The words were a whisper.
He arched one dark brow. "Slit your throat if you're lucky," he told her, deliberately callous. "If not….there are ways to die that make that look like mercy. Use your imagination. But then, you're a bard, aren't you? I imagine you've heard the stories." Gabrielle couldn't breathe. Her jaw had dropped in horror. The slave smiled slightly, evidently satisfied by her reaction. "But who knows? You might be the one girl out of thousands that she keeps. Though I wouldn't count on it if I were you."
"But—" Gabrielle faltered. "But does she—"
"I've said all I know," he told her coolly, calmer now. "Now get out of here, little girl. You annoy me." He turned his back on her and dropped down in the dirt, definitively shutting her out.