Chapter 6

Gabrielle

Within the makeshift healer's hut, Gabrielle was organizing her supplies. Herbs there were, and ointments—but when the wounded were brought in, the most important thing would be clean linens. Potions were good for fever and salves for small cuts, but they could do naught to stem the flow of blood. And blood there would certainly be, before the battle was through.

The Amazon defenses had gone up in a hurry. In the space of a day the village had become a war compound, it's perimeters staked and barricaded. The Conqueror and the Queen had decided upon their battleground, and the warriors worked quickly to prepare it. Hiding holes were dug and camouflaged, caches of weaponry stashed beneath the underbrush, archery positions chosen. Gabrielle, who had spent seasons working to undermine the Conqueror's reliance upon violent methods, watched the battle plans unfold with anxiety eating at her gut. For once, she had little use for words.

"The healer will need your help," Xena had told her. "This is where you can do the most good." Beneath those words was another unspoken assurance: this is where you'll be safest. Hidden behind the walls, far away from the fighting and the danger. A part of her resented being stashed away like some precious gem, watching while the rest marched away to fight, maybe to die. But Gabrielle also knew there was truth in Xena's words—her hands weren't meant to hold a sword, but they could bathe gashes and bind wounds as well as any. In that way, at least, she could do her part.

"Gabrielle."

The voice startled her from her work, and she looked up to find Ephiny walking toward her, flanked by Atreus and-

"Amarice?" The soft intake of breath was involuntary, but the approaching trio was one of the strangest she'd ever seen. Atreus grinned, Amarice glared sullenly and folded her arms across her chest, and Ephiny wore a look of pure determination.

"Your guards," the Amazon stated without preamble.

"My what?" Gabrielle repeated blankly.

"Guards. Conqueror's orders."

Gabrielle flushed. "Well, you can tell her I don't need-"

"I'm not telling her anything," Ephiny interrupted. "I've got a battle to fight and I'd like to do it with all my limbs intact, if you take my meaning. Tell her yourself, after."

"But this is ridiculous! I don't need two people to-"

"The Conqueror said you should have a guard. She picked hers, and I picked mine."

Ephiny glanced from Amarice to her charge with a barely concealed look of triumph, and Gabrielle could feel the warmth in her own cheeks. When she'd last left the village, she and Amarice weren't exactly on good terms. The sting of betrayal was still fresh in the Amazon's mind then, and it appeared that time had done little to cool her resentment. It was clearly Ephiny's intention to force the two of them into close proximity so that they could sort out their differences. Gabrielle felt that this particular plan was a little more devious than clever, and she glowered at the curly-haired warrior.

Ephiny gave a knowing shrug. "Well, you have your orders," she said, addressing the two appointed guards. "Any problems?" Her eyes settled on Amarice, and even Gabrielle could read the challenge that was plain in that gaze.

The red haired Amazon glared back, lips pursed and jaw jutting slightly forward. "No," she said curtly.

"Good. Keep her safe then, or the Conqueror will have all of our heads." Ephiny gave them all a meaningful look and then turned away. Gabrielle watched the curly head disappear through the doorway, silently begging her friend not to leave her alone with the two guards; but her wordless prayers were met with reciprocal silence.

"This really isn't necessary," Gabrielle tried again. "Atreus, you're Xena's captain, you should be with her in the field."

"Her captain, aye, the captain of the guard. This is what I'm trained to do, lass. I'm a watchdog. I don't know why they brought you a terrier, too."

"I'm not a terrier!" Amarice snarled.

"You mean to turn back the Spartans with those little knives of yours?" Atreus flashed her a patronizing grin, his thumb tracing the hilt of his broadsword.

Amarice wrenched a dirk free from is sheath at her hip. "Try me, captain, and you'll see what I can do with these knives."

"Enough!" Gabrielle warned, intervening to grab the amazon's forearm and force her to lower the blade.

"Oh of course, I forgot," Amarice sneered, jerking her arm away. "You don't believe in conflict."

"Not like this." She gave an exasperated sigh. "Look, I know you don't like each other, but you're allies now and this squabbling won't get us anywhere. You're on the same side, so try and act like it. Since you're both here whether any of us like it or not, you might as well make yourselves useful. Atreus, see if they need any help with the barricade. Amarice, you can stay with me."

The soldier gave a short bow, his hand still on the sword hilt, and did as he was bid.

Gabrielle closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyelids. If she could keep the two of them from each other's throats, she'd consider her part a success.

...

Xena's POV

I used to pity the new soldiers; fresh-faced boys with smooth cheeks and the bit of fuzz they called manhood adorning their upper lip. Blades fresh from the forge looked like toys in their hands, the steel smooth and untested, with no notches to give testament to its worth. I pitied them because they were naive, and because they were frightened. I'd been fighting for so long, it seemed, that I didn't feel the fear. When the enemy came pouring over a hill, waving naked steel and snarling like feral beasts, I snarled back and felt nothing. In battle you learned to seal away your humanity and become something else, something less likely to distract you, get you killed. It was a technique all new recruits had to learn. But while buckled my armor into place and dressing in the dim lamplight before dawn I felt like one of those untrained boys, distracted by a pretty face and the promise of something utterly human.

Everything I'd learned, undone by a simple kiss.

Gabrielle would be my ruin, I knew. I shouldn't have promised her something that could never be. It just couldn't. And now she was a distraction.

As soon as I emerged from my tent two members of my guard flanked me. Since I had sent Atreus to Gabrielle, Pilios would serve as my temporary captain. He was a somber man, even older than his forty winters, but he dealt stronger blows than anyone I'd ever sparred with and even I was hard-pressed to parry them. He was a good man to have at your back.

"I've mobilized the garrison," Pilios said at once, and I saw that it was true.

"Let's go then," I ordered. "Bring my horse. I'll lead the column."

We were in place by the time the sun rose, poised to meet the Spartan assault. I thought they would sweep down on us eagerly, but mid-morning approached and still we saw no sign of our enemy.

"Will you treat with them, Conqueror?" Pilios queried, but I shook my head.

"They don't want treaties. They want slaughter and conquest. They want Thessaly and the North. They want my death most of all, I'm sure. I have no intention of indulging them in that."

"There." The guardsman pointed. In the distance there was a flash of sunlight glinting on metal, and the Spartan infantry marched into view. Beneath the saddle Argo stamped impatiently, and I spurred her forward to ride across the column.

"Hold!" I shouted. "Hold ranks! Hold fire! No arrows until I give the word."

My company was mounted and that gave us an advantage, but the Spartan army seemed as vast as the Ionian Sea. They had at least four men for every one of mine. I had fought against worse numbers, but rarely ones so well disciplined. Normal foot soldiers would break ranks when cavalry swept through, but not these. They would stand firm to the last man.

"Archers!" I could hear the whisper of bows pulling taught. "Fire!"

The arrows sprang forth and fell like a dark, deadly rain upon the Spartan front lines. A few men fell, pitching forward onto the earth to be run over by their brothers, but most raised their shields in time to deflect the arrows and watch them clatter harmlessly to the ground. I drew my sword and pointed it at our enemy, shouting the command to charge.

My voice was lost as others took up the call and spurred their horses into motion. Pilios and the rest of the guard pulled in close as we drew near, bracing ourselves for impact as we burst through the barrier of shields.

I wasn't conscious of much after that. There's a point at which my senses fall under the dominion of instinct rather than rational thought, and I know little beyond the slash of the sword and the jerking, cumbersome motion of the fight. Bards always sing of the smooth choreography, the dance of war, but it's not a dance—or if it is, it's a dance of skeletons, of clattering bones and halting motions weighed down by heavy steel. It's not poetry. It's blood and sweat, and death.

I was nearly unhorsed once by a soldier who slashed at my leg, aiming for the stirrups. I blocked the blow just in time, nicking my calf with my own blade as I did so. I gathered myself to thrust back but Pilios was already there, cutting the man's legs out from under him and sending him to the dirt. My captain had lost his own mount somehow.

"Conqueror," he gasped, "you must call the retreat!" I could see the blood slicking his cuirass, some of it his and some from dead men.

"To me!" I called, and my voice was hoarse. "To me!" And then, when the remainder of my men drew closer, "fall back!"

Our retreat was staged, but it wasn't quite a feint. If we stayed on that plain, it would have ended there for us. I lost sight of Pilios as we rode hard for the treeline, but two of my other guards were there closing in on either side of me.

"Those amazons better come through," one of them growled before the exertion took away his ability to speak. I shared his concern, but my mind wasn't on the amazon ambush—it was on the village, and Gabrielle.

I rode on with the Spartans at my back, leading an army of enemies toward the one person whose life had more value to me than my own.

...

Gabrielle

Gabrielle clutched the still-warm hand in her own, using the other to press the blood-soaked bandage into the wound on the woman's belly.

"We have to move her," Atreus said quietly. "She's gone."

"No," Gabrielle protested. "She's not. She's not. She just needs… here, help me put pressure on the wound. Help me!"

"It's over, Gabrielle."

"I can still help her…"

"No, lass. Not this one." The captain took Gabrielle by the arm and pulled her away from the amazon's bedside. Gabrielle choked back a sob and lifted a hand to wipe away her tears. It was covered in the dead woman's blood. Atreus lifted her as if she were a child and set her down on a vacant cot. With a clean rag and a bowl of water, he gently wiped the blood from her fingers.

"How can you stand it?" Gabrielle asked. "How can anyone stand it?" Her eyes found a woman rocking in agony on a cot, her throat so raw from screaming that she could no longer do anything more than moan in pain.

"Sometimes there's no choice," Atreus said gravely.

"I don't accept that. There has to be another way."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But if you extend your hand in peace and it's slapped away, how long will you keep trying?"

"As long as it takes," she said stubbornly.

Atreus smiled, a hollow smile that trembled in envy of the young woman's naivety. He bent his head again, rinsing the cloth and watching the water turn pink. "You remind me of my wife," he told her.

Gabrielle's mouth twitched in surprise. "I didn't know you were married," she confessed.

"I was very young, lowborn, a blacksmith's apprentice. Her father was a merchant. I used to shoe his horses for him—a pair of geldings, well-behaved animals. Sometimes he'd bring his daughter to market to help manage his stall. Her name was Antheia."

"Goddess of flowers." Gabrielle smiled, her tears momentarily overwhelmed by her love of stories.

"Yes," Atreus nodded. There was a tender reverence in his eyes that Gabrielle had never seen before. "I found myself buying wares from her with money I didn't have, just for the chance to exchange a few words, to exist in her world if only for a moment. She was courteous to everyone, quick to smile, and much smarter than I—she could read and write, and served as her father's bookkeeper. After several seasons I found the courage to ask the merchant for his daughter's hand in marriage. He laughed at me."

"How awful," Gabrielle murmured. "But you persisted?"

"Of course. I was a fool in love. Could I do anything else?" Atreus smiled. "But his laughter wasn't meant to offend. I wasn't the first to seek her hand, you see. Each time, Antheia's father would give her the choice to accept or refuse, and each time she would ask her suitor what he could offer her to make her happy. Most proposed a lavish wedding or the riches of family inheritance, but she turned them all down. If she had refused so many wealthy suitors, how could I, an apprentice boy, hope to win her hand?"

"So what did you do?"

"I went to her on the evening of the next market day with my hair and clothes still full of soot and soil from my work. The ring I placed on her finger was a clumsy thing. I'd shaped it myself, and she giggled when I slipped it on. 'What would you offer me in marriage?' she asked. 'Myself,' I told her. 'I can't promise wealth that I don't have, but I would pledge everything I am to love you.' She smiled and kissed me on the cheek, and we were betrothed."

"That's beautiful!"

"So was she." The soldier's smile faded and his face darkened. "She was killed when marauders struck our village."

"By the gods, Atreus, I'm so sorry."

"She wanted to parley with them." There was a quiet fury in his voice now. "She thought if we offered them supplies they would take the plunder and leave. But they didn't care about plunder or land or ransoms. They came to spill blood, and they did. Her blood. She wanted peace, and they killed her for it."

Gabrielle plucked the wet cloth from his fingers and cupped his hand in hers. "That's when Xena found you," she said softly, finishing the story.

"I was so full of hate, Gabrielle. I was not the man I am now. I wanted to make them pay for what they'd done to my Antheia, my flower. Xena was gathering an army to unite the Northern provinces and force the marauders off our land, and she offered me a new purpose. She gave me a reason to go on when everything else seemed lost, to use my sword for something other than raw vengeance. What she did for me… it's a debt I can never repay."

"I… I think I understand."

"Listen to me, Gabrielle: your philosophy… it's admirable. It's the kind of thing I wanted to believe in too. But when people live by a different code, you can't take it and wear it as failure. These women"—he glanced around the healer's hut—"made a choice, to fight for something they believed in. Their deaths are not your fault. Don't try to carry that weight on your shoulders. It's not your burden to bear."

Gabrielle brushed the tears from her eyes and squeezed the soldier's hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Out of the way!" A voice called urgently from the door of the hut, where two amazons were carrying someone inside on a makeshift stretcher. Gabrielle caught a glimpse of long dark hair, and her stomach twisted. She dropped to her feet, clutching Atreus' shoulder for support.

Amarice was beside her in an instant.

"It's the Conqueror," the amazon said gravely, and for once there was no hint of malice in her voice. "She's been hurt."