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'Chapter 4b of—'. Chapter 6.*

Measurements of distance:— Stadia. 10 stadia = 1 mile approx. (1.609 km). Parasang.1 parasang = 3 miles approx. (4.827 km).

—O—

'The Hills of Mysia'

"Do I have to?"

"Yeah, Auto, y'do." Gabrielle wasn't having any of it. "Take all three horses—"

"Horses! Ha!"

"Yeah, yeah, Xena,—and head along that narrow track that starts over there by the beech-tree." The Amazon waved vaguely off to the left somewhere. "It looks as if it meanders across the flank of the hill. Probably joins another trail again—maybe something short of a parasang distant, at most. You then go back down onto the main road, an' head on towards Pergamum. Slowly, of course. We'll catch up."

The King of Thieves, rudely—very rudely—awakened to the cold dark reality of the camp from a glorious dream featuring himself and seven—count them, seven—beautiful women catering to his every sybaritic wish (when Auto dreamed he liked to dream big-time), was no longer a happy camper.*

"Track? There ain't no track there." The dark-enshrouded camp was lit only by a single flickering torch. He made a dramatic scenario of pretending to search and gaze around, one hand shielding his eyes; from what neither woman knew. "That break in the bushes—I think a fox made that, or maybe a coupl'a rabbits. It don't go anywhere. And anyway, Tros—"

"Listen, Auto, I'm gonna say this only once—an' you better hear it!" Gabrielle's patience, always delicately balanced, had now definitely handed in its dinner-pail and gone on holiday. "That track—an' this is an Amazon talkin' here, —goes across the hill and joins another trail coming up from the main road about half a parasang away. Push your way through the bushes over there an' you'll see a perfectly clear signposted avenue. Take it. Take it now,—or die horribly!"

—O—

A short while later all was once more quiet around the camp. Autolycus, amid a welter of grumbling discontent and some very fresh language happily unheard by the ladies, had struggled under the low branches of the surrounding trees and started off on his expedition into who-knew-where along the side of the hill; accompanied by the three horses.

"D'ya suppose he'll actually make it back down onto the road?" Xena inclined her head in a way she had when considering a dubious proposition. "He's a little outta his—whad'ya call it,—comfort zone."

"I gave him the best directions. You're talking to an expert here y'know, Xena." Gabrielle was slightly miffed at this indirect criticism. "I bet if you went off on a track like that you'd be lost in under a stadia. An' I'd be creeping along trailing you without a sign I was there, sister. Come on, we got work t'do."

—O—

Between them the Warrior and the Amazon had concocted a very pretty little welcome for Tros and his friends. They had set up a series of booby-traps, using short lengths of rope and twine they brought with them for just this eventuality. A number of virtually invisible lengths of stout twine, stretched across a bumpy uneven trail in darkest night, were just the things to trip unwary persons. Several short but heavy logs, made of fallen leafless branches, were precariously balanced on the ends of short ropes in the nooks of trees above head height. Connected to twine trip-wires low on the ground, these also made effective traps, capable of swinging down and knocking a man off his feet before he was aware of danger.

But Gabrielle had come up with the jewel in the crown; she discovered the old wagon, on detailed inspection, was not yet quite so far gone as it looked. Between them they dragged the two worst affected wheels back into some sort of relationship with their axles; then managed to push the thing a little way into the middle of the trail, its rear facing downhill. As its deck was still just barely able to carry some weight they piled a few short boughs lying nearby on board, finishing with a number of heavy stones. Xena connected two pieces of wood stuck under the rear wheels, and acting as brake-restraints, to trip-wires some way down the trail; using a series of notched pegs stuck in the ground, after which the hopefully-mobile trap was ready.

All this preparation had taken most of the two hours Xena expected Tros's forces to take to reach them. Finally they barely had time left to abandon the camp, leaving a respectable fire innocently burning, and disappear into the encroaching thickets and undergrowth to await events.

—O—

"I can hear them!"

"What? I can't hear a thing." Gabrielle paused to listen intently. "Probably an owl, or something?"

The Warrior Princess wasn't putting up with this mutinous attitude, especially from an Amazon.

"Darling, as you well know I can hear a flea fart half a parasang away when the winds in the right direction." Xena sniffed austerely, making her point. "I am at one with the Universe!"

Gabrielle started giggling uncontrollably. Increasing in volume, this turned into badly suppressed laughter so quickly Xena had to lean over and gag the recalcitrant girl with an open palm tightly pressed over her mouth. Xena could feel Gabrielle's body rocking with amusement as they clasped each other close.

"Mmmmph! Mmmm! Mmphmm—awwf, that's better, you nearly choked me, Xena."

"Serve ya right." The dark one tried to sound incensed, though there was an invisible smile flickering on her lips. "Gods, you're such a trouble-maker. D'ya want Tros t'hear ya all the way back on the main road?"

"OK—OK, I'm alright now." The Amazon struggled to her feet, where they crouched under the branches of a fir. "But what can you expect, when you say something like that? Gods, you've got strong hands, though. You nearly made me bite my tongue. So, Tros is near? How near?"

"Easy—easy, listen. Listen."

The two women stood together motionless. All around was the dark of the forest, with only a few tree-trunks faintly visible in the glow from the now distant campfire. Gabrielle couldn't hear so much as a single bird, deer, rabbit, or owl. The animal life of the region seemed unnaturally quiet, even for the middle of the night. Then she heard something too.

"Gods, what was that?" Gabrielle leaned forward, as she instinctively tried to feed all her senses into listening. "Crunching—crackling—sorta irregularly. It's faded—no, it's come back, I hear it clearer now. People, coming up through the forest—quite far off yet. They're not all using the track—they're coming up through the undergrowth and trees at the side of the track. Crafty."

"Think we oughta go further into the forest, away from the track an' camp." Xena touched the Amazon on her shoulder. "We need'ta be some way off when the fun begins. These trees aren't big or strong enough for us to climb and use as ambushes. We'll run in from a distance. Y'know,—quick in-an'-out sorties."

Gabrielle nodded understandingly. She was used to this kind of action from training with her tribe.

"Harass them a piece at a time." The Amazon grinned, she could do this in her sleep now. "Knock a few on their heads, but not to really hurt 'em. Let the booby-traps take care of the majority. Then we make a break for the road in all the confusion."

"By the time Tros has sorted himself out again it should be more or less dawn." The Princess grinned wickedly. "He won't come rampaging along the Highway after us, then. That'd just fall into the hands of the Pergamum army units that patrol the road all the way to the capital. I don't think he'll follow at all, in fact."

"This is just a one-off attack by him?" Gabrielle nodded, after some thought, while she continued to listen in the dark. "He's come this far from the coast and his trireme; but he don't intend to be dragged unwillingly further into the interior, where his small force would be at a disadvantage. He'll have no choice but to return to his ship after this abortive raid, while we go on to Pergamum. I like it. How far off is he now? Four-five stadia, d'you think?"

"Yeah, about that." Xena tightened her lips and spoke in a whisper. "C'mon, let's move a little further off. We can decide which groups to attack when the booby-traps knock them sideways. Won't be long now."

The Warrior Princess took her blonde companion's wrist gently as they both softly faded back into the darkness of the deep forest.

—O—

Tros had experienced a bad day; and this night, halfway up a dark uneven forest trail, didn't look as if it would improve on matters. Firstly, the harbour-master at Dikili had insisted his trireme should be charged port rates equal to a quadrireme; then he had to leave most of his trained loyal crew with the ship, because he didn't like the general atmosphere around the dingy harbour with its crowds of shifty insalubrious hangers-on; then arguing with local horse-dealers for mounts for his remaining group took most of the morning; and finally he had been stopped twice by Pergamum army patrols on the main road asking what in Hades he was doing with a minor army of his own. And although he had spun them a fine story Tros, strangely, never liked outright lying at the best of times.

No, it hadn't been a good day at all so far. He could not bring provisions, or equipment, or reserves of water; they had to stop several times to replenish water-bottles and refresh the horses at streams, and there was only a finite distance he could follow Xena along the road to Pergamum. If he did not find her within a day's march he would have to admit defeat and turn back. Tros was a man who never admitted defeat; and turning back was a command he had never been known to give in his entire career. He wasn't going to start now.

However, it was dark; he and his crew were nearly a day's march from Dikili; and they just could not progress further. If this minor trail up into the heavily-wooded mountain did not, in fact, conceal Xena then he would have no alternative but to return to his trireme. Tros was, if not actually enraged, at least rapidly losing his patience by this point.

"You had better be right about these signs, or I will break your head for you." Tros never liked to molly-coddle his men; if they did their job to his high standards, fine; if not he taught them the error of their ways with his fists. Simple, and it did wonders for discipline.

The tracker; actually he was a liburnian crewman with a sideline, looked even more nervous than previously. But, obviously taking the line that he might as well be killed for a bull than a billy-goat, the man stuck his chin out and tried to look Tros in the eye. Not an easy task at the best of times; and not helped by the cold, darkness, and general air of nervousness emanating from everyone except Tros himself.

"Three horses, sire, like I said when we entered this trail back down at the main road." The tracker tried to sound confident, though his obvious misgivings made his voice quiver. "Heavily laden. Two men an' a woman. At least, that is, two big solid people an' a slighter built person. Look'it the footprints, sire."

As with all these sort of broken trails heading up the sides of hills or mountains; especially those passing through heavily wooded areas, the track tended to act as a sort of outflow for minor streams coming off the sides of the mountain. Therefore the earth surface of the track was soft at best, and decidedly muddy in many places. At this point, quite well advanced up the trail, there were a perfect set of imprints extending for a few paces.

"I am not quite blind yet, imbecile." Tros was only partially placated; after all they still had to reach the travellers within a reasonable time. "How old are these prints? How far ahead are they. Well! I asked a question. Give me your answer."

"Not more than three hours ago." The flustered tracker was not actually certain, but knew the importance of appearing confident before Tros. "They can't be more'n twelve stadia, or maybe half a parasang, ahead. Considering the track goes steeply uphill, an' is all broken an' uneven, sire."

"Humph! Kleon, choose three companions and hold the horses here." Tros had decided the time had arrived for positive action. "The rest of you follow me on foot. Ennaeus, take ten men and edge up through the light trees and undergrowth on the left of the track. Diokles, the same on the right of the track. I'll take the centre of the path, with all the others."

There was a pause while they sorted themselves out into the appropriate units then, just before they set off, Tros called for silence as they all stood in the surrounding darkness; the trees vague walls of blackness on either hand.

"Listen men, our objective is the Helmet of Athena. It is of great significance to those pathetic Mysian slaves of Rome in Pergamum. I do not intend they should ever see it. Xena, you all already know of. But realise this, I am a better warrior than she; I am a better fighter than she; I am a better tactician than she; I out-number her by far; and lastly she is merely a woman, who holds no threat for us. Come, let us battle her; defeat her; gain the Helmet, and go home victorious! Follow me!"

—O—

Notes:—

1. 'Chapter 4b of—' Oh bother, I started out thinking this would be a 4 chapter story—how wrong can you be! Please re-number this as chapter 6, (and the previous chapters in logical order, if you copied them and are wondering what the— is going on), and we'll carry on from here.:)

2. sybaritic. Sybaris was an ancient Greek city in Southern Italy. Its citizens, Sybarites, were stereotyped as lovers of pleasure and luxury.

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