Pre-"A Necessary Evil"
At the Amazon village, Gabrielle insisted that his broken arm be seen by the healer, who turned out to be a crone with shrewd eyes named Demophile. He used his standard charm routine out of habit, even though he'd found Amazons to be rather immune. But this one was different. Like the others, she was amused at him, but she also reminded him of certain folks, especially elders, who'd been his greatest allies when he'd begun his life of thievery. These folks had been willing to spread extravagant stories of his exploits—in fact, they'd done so with great glee, often embellishing in ways that gave him new ideas, (not of how to thieve, but more how to have a sense of style while doing so. He's always wondered if they had simply been grateful for new stories to tell, or if they had liked what he did with what he stole (which, thankfully, he'd convinced them to keep out of their increasingly daring tales). These folks spoke of "The King of Thieves" with a pride that had a distinctly parental—or grandparental—feeling to it.
He normally rather enjoyed this, but as he sat still for Demophile's ministrations, he discovered that, alas, it was not his considerable skills in thievery that she was admiring. It turned out the old woman had heard a frighteningly heartwarming account of him from Gabrielle, of what he'd done for her and for Xena. Xena's teasing was bad enough, but for this stranger to think of him as a do-gooder—that was not going to work at all.
"Ouch!" he complained as she prodded his broken arm.
"Hmm," she grunted, carefully feeling along the bone with both weathered hands, then—
"Ahhhh!" he cried out suddenly as she readjusted without warning.
"Hold still," she ordered, then wrapped the arm at the point of the break tightly with cloth. "That will hold it better in place, so it can heal properly," she explained.
He nodded, dazed from the pain that now receded quickly, as she then methodically began checking him for other evidence of Velaska's treatment.
What had he been thinking? Oh, yes, she'd gotten the wrong idea of him. He tried, as she used a curious smelling salve—odd, but pleasant—on the worst of his bruises, to tell her that he'd had no choice—he'd been possessed by Xena's spirit, he'd been afraid of her and of their queen, he'd done it as an excuse to ogle the Amazon women—and he could tell by the amused light in her eyes that she didn't believe any of it (well, perhaps that last bit, since there was some truth there).
He was grateful when she changed the subject and asked about Xena and the ambrosia, and he answered with what he'd seen and what little he knew.
"A shame none was salvaged. A healer could do much with even just a morsel to strengthen the health of all this nation." Her look became shrewder. Autolycus snapped to her unstated request, and to a way he might rescue himself from these ugly rumors.
"I don't want people thinking the wrong thing about my involvement in all of this," he began. "It could ruin my thiefly reputation, and promote one that wouldn't be good for my welfare at all: if people start thinking I'll do things to help them, I'll never have time for my work. So, if you'd be so kind as to not repeat these—misconceptions you've heard from Gabrielle—"
"You would do a favor in return?"
"I could."
And so, though never in so many words, they made an agreement: he'd steal some ambrosia in return for her silence. This had the additional advantage that now Autolycus could distract himself from his disquieting musings with another job. The value of the ambrosia—beyond Xena's need for it—had not occupied his mind much during the adventure, but now that Xena was hale, he wondered: could there be more, in that cave?
After she was done with him—and, he had to admit, the arm hurt less now—he left the Amazon village to investigate, puzzling out all the while how he could even find out with a broken arm.
What he found was extremely disturbing: Velaska's body was no long there. He investigated thoroughly and found a way down that did not involve the use of both his arms. He found some fragments, and carefully pocketed them, along with the dagger of Helios which had fallen with Velaska. Then he looked up—and from that vantage point saw a way. He was sure there would be more ambrosia up top.
He found a way a place where, one-handed with rope and grappling hook, he could dislodge some of the ambrosia that had not fallen yet.
That took half a candle-mark, and then he rushed back to the village—only to find it in flames, and with a sinking feeling of terror he could guess why.
He found the healer at work in the caves where they'd retreated, and immediately if surreptiously handed her the ambrosia. She'd said she would make a broth with it, diluted, which would strengthen the whole tribe—and looking around at the injured, he could see the need. Wordlessly she squeezed his good arm in warm gratitude, and then returned to her work.
Then, he listened. Xena and Gabrielle were already gone—to deal with Velaska. He found a hidden place to overhear as Ephiny and Solari strategized—they had a plan to delay Velaska, at Xena's request, while the warrior laid a trap for the new insane goddess.
And it was their queen, Gabrielle, that Velaska was after.
He felt sick. He'd just spent the past days with Gabrielle, witnessing her courage, determination, and wrenching grief, and he'd had a taste of Velaska's outrageous cruelty first hand. So, it was inevitable, he told himself. This was just—sympathetic imagination. But, he could still run, far in the opposite direction—
"You. Thief," Ephiny startled him. Both amazons had discovered his eavesdropping.