III.
When Xena awoke the next morning, she felt an old chaos overwhelm her. It was odd, and in some way familiar, this internal pendulum swinging to and fro: she found that the bloodshed and hunger of times past were only tidal revolutions, where she landed on one side or the other of what Lao Ma had called the Te. Behind her closed eyes, as if behind a curtain, she saw the thin, pale fingers of her mentor wrapped around a brush pen as she painted long, slow strokes of black ink spiders over a sheaf of bamboo-bound papyrus.
This is the Te, and it is called mysterious. It is your dark virtue.
Xena opened her eyes and she felt the odd feeling escape into the tranquility of first morning light and of Gabrielle breathing softly nearby.
The rest of the day passed in a tumult of activity: Xena met with Ocnus Nilos and confirmed with him a contingent group to be led out promptly at dusk, while Gabrielle limped over to the rooms of the medicus in Potter's Quarter to see if she might help them prepare. Ocnus Nilos led Xena among the drilling ranks, calling attention to each agency of soldier. The Lt. General was an uncompromising, red-skinned sort of man, standing just at Xena's eye-level, and imparted long-winded soliloquies of his immortal importance. She could tell the man felt threatened by her - he would, of course, lust after the glory of leading an Athenian defense.
When the sun sat at its peak in the sky, a spotty healer's assistant found Xena with a message from Gabrielle: To meet her in the Agora. Puzzling over this news, Xena excused herself and turned from the drilling fields. She walked with purpose along the merchant-lined length of the Piraean. Women called out to her their wares, of clay jugs and olive oil, while children raced amongst the bumbling carts and horse hooves. When she reached Potter's Quarter, she paused by a watering trough and looked around.
"Xena!" a familiar voice called.
The warrior glanced to a nearby terrace and found Gabrielle perched on a barrel, two stuffed pitas sitting in her lap. She extended one pita to her friend in greeting.
"You called me all the way up here to give me a sandwich?" said Xena, smiling despite herself.
"Yes," replied Gabrielle, taking a bite of her own. Xena glanced to the bard's fingers and found them tinged a vibrant green; the warrior quirked an eyebrow. "I've been crushing herbs and boiling them into salve," Gabrielle explained, "and I have information for you, if you'll humor me, oh busy one."
Xena ripped a piece of her pita and stuck it in her mouth, sliding one thigh onto the barrel beside the bard. "Alright," she said, "go ahead."
"I was talking to Lestros, the medicus here, and he said that a few travelers brought to him four men they found injured beyond the pass. Well, I tended to them Xena, and I know a Persian when I see one. Maybe they know where the rest of the army is camped," she ventured, reaching out to wipe a bit of hummus from the corner of Xena's mouth.
The warrior's smile turned dark against the bard's fingers. "Good work, Gabrielle. I'd like to speak with them."
The bard put a warning hand on her friend's arm, "Don't hurt them, please. They're badly injured."
"I won't," she said, distractedly.
Gabrielle nodded, and seemed to become sheepish all of a sudden.
"What is it?" asked Xena, bending to try to capture the bard's eyes.
Gabrielle looked up, "Well, I was wondering if you would tell me more of Artemisia."
"Ah, so the truth comes out," mumbled Xena.
"It's such mystery to me. You're such a mystery to me," Gabrielle confided, "even after all these years."
Xena pretended to consider this, but really, she was attempting to conceal the queer déjà vu she felt echoing back to her from this morning. "Fine, walk with me to your wounded Persians, and I'll tell you."
"You're what?!" Cyr roared, slamming a fist against a shipping crate nearest the warlord.
"I'm going after her," said Xena, glancing at Rasmus who leaned against another crate, studying the reward poster she had found the previous night.
"We should push on," said Cyr, his face twisted in mocking disdain, "in favor of better lands."
"There are no better lands! If you haven't noticed, all of Greece is at war," spit Xena, snatching the poster from Rasmus' hands.
"Of all kopros, Xena. You want to go after a Persian Queen?" said Cyr.
"Not just any Queen… a Queen with a thousand Dinari bounty on her head."
"And how do you expect to even sail Persian waters? Last I checked, you were Greek."
"Easy," Xena answered, "Rasmus is Persian. I will charade as his slave, until we come across Artemisia's ship, and he will trade me," answered Xena, crossing her arms over her chest.
"And Rasmus, you agree?" asked Cyr. Rasmus opened his mouth, but Xena interrupted.
"He doesn't need to, it's not a request. And you would do well to remember your place, Cyr: beneath my boot," Xena said with a sneer. Cyr did not think before back-handing the young warlord across her already bruised face. Turning back from the brunt of the blow, Xena's tongue darted out and licked the blood forming from the re-opened split in her lip. Her eyes flashed a dangerously deep blue and Cyr took a cautionary step back, surprised even at his own audacity.
"You think that was wise?" said Xena, in a low menacing growl. She stepped forward and grabbed the front of Cyr's leather vest, dragging him to within a breath of her face. "One good reason why I shouldn't kill you," she whispered.
"I…" stalled Cyr, glancing hopelessly to Rasmus for assistance, but receiving only an apathetic shrug, "you have an army, Xena. I merely beg you do not give up what we have worked so hard to attain."
Xena smiled a vicious smile, "We?". Yet instead of breaking the zealous young rebel's neck, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in a savage kiss. "You're right," she said, releasing her hold on him. She wanted to laugh at the half-aroused, half-mortified expression on his face; Cyr reached up and touched the blood left from Xena's lips on his own. He gave her a questioning look.
"This is why I am leaving my men in your command. All I need is a fortnight, to dock with Artemisia's ship and take her once we get on land."
"She is Xerxes favoured," Rasmus spoke up, "it will be difficult to get close to her."
Xena turned to him and gave him a confident smirk, "I have many skills."
Cyr and Rasmus guffawed at that, more so in agreement than in mockery. But Xena became serious once more. "Take the men and travel on foot to Illum and cross the straight at Hellesport. I will meet you there, either with the Queen's head or with a bag of gold in hand."
And so it was settled, Rasmus and Xena would set out on the ship leaving noonday and make for the eastern Persian docks of the Marmora to try to intercept Artemisia's fleet in those waters.
Aboard the merchant ship, Rasmus stood on the decks, adorned in the dreory silk robes Xena had purchased to make their story more credible. He entertained two Persian sailors with stories of the slave-trade, making up a believable tale of inheriting his father's business. At his feet, Xena knelt, clothed in the rags of a slave woman, a leather collar fastened about her neck. Subtly, she kicked Rasmus in the back of his leg, trying to urge him further in their plan to extract information from these sailors.
Rasmus cleared his throat and spoke in Farsi, "I have heard tell of Xerxes' plans to contest the Greek navy in Salamis."
One of the sailors grunted, "Aye, his confidence has grown legs."
"You disagree?" asked Rasmus. Xena tried to interpret some cognates in their conversation, but she found herself lost in translation.
"I will not speak ill of our fearless king," said the sailor, "but he holds conference in Byzantium on the matter. All his advisors will be there. "
Rasmus decided to play a card, "I hear Xerxes takes the council of a woman."
The sailor laughed, "Aye, he takes council between her legs!"
"Hold your cock," said the other sailor, "it is Queen Artemisia you speak of. I have served under her command once before, a very savvy woman. And very beautiful."
Xena shifted on her heel and looked up at the sailor who displayed some dignity; she could tell by the look in his eyes that he respected this Artemisia, even if she could not understand his reprimand.
"She rules Caria, no?" asked Rasmus.
"She does," answered the sailor, "after the death of her husband."
"How I would like to lay eyes upon a woman naval commander. It is a rare gem," replied Rasmus, "will she be at this council meeting in Byzantium?"
"I believe she will," said the sailor. Rasmus thanked them and pulled on Xena's collar to lead her away. Once out of earshot, near the bow of the ship, Rasmus related all the information to his warlord.
"Looks like we're going to Byzantium," said Xena, smiling devilishly. She turned from her 'master' and leaned against the port-side, looking out at the calm turquoise sea. On either horizon, she saw the hills of Greece disappearing in the dusk. A night's trip would have them beyond enemy lines, in the lands of the Persians. They would have to act carefully, she thought. The image of the cloaked stranger came to her then, and whether or not it was a figment of her drunkenness, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. With the money from Artemisia's capture, she would be able to purchase weapons and stores for her growing army and induce more men to join her. And with a stronger army, she would be able to move east over the Ottoman lands and conquer as she pleased. Fire raised behind her blue eyes, and she saw all the cities of the world burning and she, standing above them, with a torch in hand.
"And so we sailed to ports of Byzantium," said Xena, as she and Gabrielle made their way through the annals of hospice pallets that lay in wait for the coming battle.
"It seems too easy," replied the bard, pausing outside the threshold of the smaller room where they kept the wounded Persian soldiers.
"Yes, it did to me as well," said Xena, "but, it turned out to be much more complex than I anticipated."
"Of course it did," Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "I hope you'll tell me more tonight." At Xena's nod, she led them beyond the curtain and greeted Lestros, who was busy changing bandages of the men there. "This is my friend. She needs to ask these men some questions," she explained.
Lestros gazed up at Xena, taking in her warrior's garb and the sword at her back. "Oh, no! She can't talk to them now, they need rest—".
Xena brushed him aside and stooped down to the nearest man he was tending. The soldier's eyes were closed, but flew open when the warrior took his shoulders and shook him awake.
"Saloum," greeted Xena, her voice low.
When the soldier's eyes found the Warrior Princess' face in focus, they widened in terror.
"Relax," continued Xena in his language, "I will not harm you… if you give me what I want. What is your name?"
The soldier began to struggle, but his arm appeared to be broken. And suddenly, it dawned on Xena that she recognized this man. She had fought him in the armory and she had given him that broken arm.
"What is your name?" Xena repeated, laying two capable hands on the man's shoulders to still him.
Seeing no way out of his predicament, the soldier replied, "Ihsan".
"Well, Ihsan," replied Xena, still in his mother tongue, "it looks like you are a prisoner of war." Ihsan struggled again, but Xena pressed a little heavier on his fractured forearm, and he screamed.
"Xena," Gabrielle hissed, "You promised…"
But Xena ignored her, and instead kept the intensity of her gaze on the soldier "Oh, yes," she continued, "I know all about Tetram's little surprise. And what a coward he is with his guerilla tactics and no declarations of war." The soldier's tanned face turned dark with a flush of anger. "So, I'll tell you what- I won't break your other arm if you tell me where your main territorials are camped."
Ihsan responded with a mean sneer; he hocked his throat and spit at the Warrior Princess. Gabrielle winced at the action, handing her friend a clean piece of cloth to wipe the spittle from her cheek. Xena took the rag and cleaned herself. Then, in a blur of motion, she jabbed two fingers to Ihsan's neck. The soldier gasped and writhed, looking wildly at the three gathered around him.
"What have you done!" cried Lestros. Gabrielle turned away.
"I've cut off the flow of blood to his brain," replied Xena, easily, "he's got twenty seconds until it implodes." She said this is Greek, choosing to believe Ishan understood his own peril. She glanced back to the dying man, watching as a thin trickle of blood made its way down from one nostril. Ishan began to nod, making mad gestures that he was willing to talk. Xena released the pressure point with a quick jab.
Ishan gasped, wincing at the pain that rushed to his temples, "Salamis, across the channel."
Xena smiled, "That wasn't so hard." She stood and turned back to Lestros, who looked aghast at the whole situation. "See to it that these men make a full recovery. I've got plans for them," she said. The warrior looked to Gabrielle, her eyes betraying the beginnings of embarrassment; she then strode from the room.
Gabrielle caught up with Xena outside the hospice, barely keeping pace with the warrior's long strides. "That was ugly," she said.
"It was unavoidable," replied Xena.
"You said you wouldn't-"
"He was resisting, Gabrielle!"
Gabrielle stopped their hurried march, a hand clasping her friend's arm firmly. "I'm tired of this old argument, Xena. Either you choose what is decent, or you do not." With that, the bard walked away, back toward the hospice.
Xena stood in the merchant square, watching Gabrielle's retreating back and then as she disappeared into the crowd. She set her jaw, feeling her heart begin to ache in her chest.
The past shall always repeat itself.