"A Different Peace"

By Sais 2 Cool

Disclaimers:

Xena, Gabrielle, Ares and Argo II are not owned by me. They’re the property of those guys over at StudiosUSA. Maybe also RenPics, MCA/Universal and Oxygen. I don’t even know anymore. I’ll just assume it’ll all be sorted out in the Final Judgment. Any other characters in this story that you don’t recognize from the show are my own creation.

Love/Sex Warning: Yup. There be subtext aplenty. But if you’re looking for a story in which Xena and Gab are definitively outed you might want to read something else. I tried to keep the spirit of the show and leave enough wiggle room for subbers, shippers, fencesitters, etc. etc. to feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Violence Warning: This story attempts to realistically depict a few battles and skirmishes and their aftermath. Nothing too graphic and gross but if even mild blood and guts ain’t your thing you might want to read something else.

My eternal gratitude: To LadyKate, Ares’ PR rep here on earth. LK was a great sounding board as I bounced all my wacky plot ideas off of her-even going so far as to convince me that Ares should not be the villain of my story. Special appreciation for her historical know-how, all her good advice, her love of good angst and most especially for her patience with a paranoid, neurotic author.

And to ~Serendipity~ who treated my many maddening questions about this story with generosity, patience and good humor. She’s debated, discussed and argued deaf, dumb and blind every little nuance of XWP with me. And while “her” Gabby doesn’t quite mesh with “my” warrior bard Gabby, this story has a small homage to her peace-lovin’ bard. But since I’m the author, there’s gonna more warrior than bard <g>. ~Ser~ will just have to write her own fan fic if she wants her peace-lovin’, poetry writin’ hippie chick.

Comments, feedback, and constructive criticism may be sent to Sais2Cool516@aol.com. Thank you.

The camp was set up haphazardly, without protection in mind.  Not that the caravan was unaware of the danger they were in.  They were hunted, after all.  They simply didn’t know the first thing about strategy.  One didn’t tend to acquire strategy techniques in a life dedicated to love and peace.  The small blonde warrior was able to sneak up on them undetected.  She watched them for hours, assessing their strengths and their weaknesses.  On one hand she noted several young people who appeared to be strong and healthy, capable of defending themselves.  But, she reminded herself, they would probably not be inclined to put up a fight.  She counted four unarmed sentries who patrolled the area in a random pattern.  Anyone could slip through their meager defense, if it could be called a defense.  The warrior assumed the sentries were more a sacrifice than anything, probably placed on the edges of the camp to serve as an alarm to the rest should their “defenses” be breached.  A sentry would call out a warning, and while the invaders were slowed down enough to either capture or kill him, the others would have an opportunity to escape.  If that was the case, the warrior expected crosses to be lining the Appian Way in just a few weeks time. 

She carefully lowered herself from the tree limb she was perched on.  Even so, she still had to drop a few feet to the ground.  Years of increasing physical prowess could not give her the one thing she still lacked and always would.  Height.  With a soft thud, she hit the ground and held perfectly still, listening until she was satisfied that she heard nothing in response to her drop. 

She drew a sai from her right boot and skulked up behind one of the sentries.  He was large and a running leap at him would have destroyed the element of surprise.  Instead, she crouched down, stealthy as a cat, each step measured and calculated.  She went for the back of his knee, collapsing it with the hilt of her sai.  It wasn’t a hard blow, but the shock of it brought him down.  Before he had time to call out a warning, her fingers shot forward, stabbing him in the neck and he gasped.  The sounds he attempted to make got lost in his throat.

The warrior held the hilt of the sai in between his shoulder blades.  “Don’t bother trying to warn your friends.  I’ve cut off your voice.  Don’t worry, the effect is temporary.  Can you stand?”  Grasping him under his arm, she hauled him to his feet and nudged him forward through the trees towards the glowing campfires.

No one noticed them approaching at first.  Everyone was busy cooking, talking or performing their nightly rituals before bed.  All save for one dark haired girl who did not escape the warriors notice as she came out of the trees and headed for the fire with an armload of wood.  The girl stopped, sensing something was wrong and gazed quizzically at the man as he stumbled towards them.

“Joseph, what’s the-?”    She caught a glimpse of the warrior who had been hidden by Joseph’s bulk until then and dropped the armload of wood.  She was quick, able to grab a piece before it hit the ground and she took off towards them.  Skidding to a halt before Joseph, she squared off against the warrior, the wood held high above her head, ready for a strike.  “Let him go!”

The intruder stepped aside to get Joseph out of the path of an attack.  The girl adjusted herself so that she still faced the small blonde warrior, her arm still poised for a blow.

The sai dropped to the ground with a soft thud and the warrior held up her hands.  “I don’t mean you any harm.”

The girl’s upraised arm shook.  “If that’s true then why were you holding a knife to my brother?  Joseph?  What did you do to him?  Why can’t he speak?”

“I cut off his voice so that he wouldn’t warn you I was coming.  Just…don’t start swinging and I’ll fix it.  Okay?”  The girl nodded, but still stood ready for a strike.  The warrior moved slowly to stand before Joseph.  Her fingers shot out towards his throat.

Joseph grabbed his throat and coughed.  When he had recovered, he held out a hand.  “Soria, put that down.  Now!”

His sister curled her lip derisively.  “And leave us completely defenseless?  She still has another weapon in her boot.”

“And she could cut you to pieces before you got in the first blow,” Joseph retorted hoarsely, his voice not completely regained.  “Besides, if she wanted to kill me she would have done it back there.  Put it down!”  Joseph’s arm shot out and grabbed the girl’s wrist, forcing her  to drop the weapon.  He kicked it away and turned to the stranger.  “I hope you have a good reason for sneaking up and attacking me, then frightening these people half to death.”

Soria was eyeing the sai lying on the ground.  The look in the girl’s eyes betrayed that she might make a lunge for it.  The small blonde stranger slipped the toe of her boot over the weapon.

“My name is Gabrielle.  I came to offer my help.”

A contemptuous snort:  “You call this help?”

Gabrielle glanced at the girl then turned to her brother.  “Your defenses are weak.  I’ve been observing you for hours.  A small company of Romans would have no problem sweeping right through and cutting you all down.  You need my help.”

Joseph gazed at her suspiciously.  “What makes you think we need protecting against the Romans?  We’re poor people on our way east-.”

“To find the Messenger Eve.  I know.  I also know you were running for your lives after Rome burned.  Nero was looking to lay blame for the fire and he’s laid it on the doorstep of another small religious sect-Christians I think they’re called.  Nero couldn’t go after the Elijians at first, they were too big a movement.  But since he equates the Elijians so closely with that other sect he’s since vowed to wipe you all out.  And he’s nearly kept his promise.”

Joseph wiped a shaky hand across his mouth.  “Are there-are there any followers of Eli left in Rome?”

Gabrielle’s face was impassive as she gave a slight nod.  “A few.  The last I heard they’ve banded together with the Christians and have taken to hiding.  But you…Nero will hunt you down.  He’s already sent out troops to find you.”

“Perhaps we’ve already been found,” Soria said accusingly.  “Perhaps the Emperor’s hired assassin is in our camp as we speak.   Why should we trust you?”

Gabrielle regarded the girl thoughtfully a moment.  She chose her words carefully.  “Because Nero has no reason to fear you.  Why would he send one assassin-or even a spy- when he knows his troops could sweep through here without you even putting up a fight?  That’s not his style.”

“That’s right, Soria,” Joseph said calmly.  “He’s insane.  I’ve heard talk that Nero started that fire himself, all so that he could clear the land for his Golden Palace.  And the night of the fire?  He climbed the tower of  Maecenas and sang  about the capture of Troy.”

“I was in Alexandria when the fire started but I’ve heard the rumors,” Gabrielle said.  Sensing the Elijians were more at ease with her now, she bent and retrieved her sai, tucking it into her boot.  She brushed the hair from her eyes.  “The good news is the Romans believe you’ve headed west.  It won’t fool them for long.  But we’ve  bought a little time.”

“Time for what?”  Joseph asked.

“Until I can figure out what to do next.”

                                                            *****                                                 

Joseph offered his half of the tent that he and Soria shared to Gabrielle.  She started to decline but then actually welcomed the idea of sleeping with a roof, even if it was only a tent roof, over her head.  Before she turned in she told Soria that she still had her horse out in the woods and that it had to be tended to.   Soria watched in amazement as Gabrielle whistled and the horse came galloping into camp.

As Gabrielle watered, fed and lovingly brushed down the golden mare, Soria felt her defenses starting to be let down.  “What’s her name?”

“This is Argo,” Gabrielle said with an affectionate scratch to the horse’s nose.  “She’s very special.  Argo and I have been through a lot together since…well since we arrived in Egypt.  She’s family.”

After Argo was taken care of for the night, Gabrielle went into the tent and sank down on her bedroll.  After years of traveling, the exhaustion never quite left her bones.  She felt as if she could sleep for a year.  Wearily, she pulled the sais from her boots and laid them beside her.  She pulled her chakram from her belt and laid that atop her sais. 

“What is that thing?”  Soria asked pointing at the chakram.

“It’s a chakram.”  And to Soria’s puzzled look she said “it’s a weapon.”

“Why didn’t you use it?”

“There wasn’t any need,” Gabrielle said while stifling a yawn.  “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”

“But you could…with that?  You have?”

Gabrielle forced her tired eyes open to look at Soria.  “Yes.  Not very often.  When you use this,” she held up the chakram, “you mean business.  And I try to avoid fighting whenever possible.”

What an odd remark from someone whose profession was that of a warrior, Soria mused as Gabrielle drifted off quickly and began to snore.  But then again, she reminded herself, Gabrielle was not a typical warrior.  Soria studied her as she slept.  She was a tiny thing, a bit shorter than Soria was.  And she was hardly more than a girl, no more than 4 or 5 years older than Soria herself was.  But there was a quiet strength and maturity about Gabrielle.  Her soft, delicate features gave the impression of someone who was more prone to compassion than hardness.  Soria had seen hardness before, in the eyes of almost every Roman soldier she ever encountered.  She could recognize it.  But in Gabrielle there was no hint of that.  Instead, she caught a glimpse of sadness and loneliness in her green eyes and Soria wondered at that.  How did a young girl from Greece wind up in Rome, willing to take on the Empire’s legions single-handedly?   It was a story Soria would like to have heard.

                                                            *****

She tried for days afterward but Gabrielle was not very forthcoming with any information about herself.  Soria assumed that she was quiet and reserved by nature.  But it did not keep her from trying. 

The caravan traveled long and hard, taking advantage of the daylight in trying to put as much distance between them and the Romans as possible.  Soria would ride at the head of the caravan just behind Gabrielle, in the hopes that the warrior would acknowledge her presence sooner or later.  But Gabrielle was always more preoccupied with where they were going and what was going on around them, always on alert for an ambush.  Her conversations were usually limited to concerns about how their supplies were holding up and recommendations about setting up a defense perimeter when they camped for the night.

At night, those not posted as sentries were at their most relaxed.  Deliberately trying to forget the carnage they left behind in Rome and trying not to think about the fate that might await them the next day, they all sat around a large fire, singing and trading stories about  happier times.  Gabrielle would sit with them, her legs stretched before the fire and occasionally laugh or smile in appreciation at a story someone told.  But she would never contribute.  Everyone seemed to sense that conversation was not a skill a warrior necessarily had to acquire in order to be successful.  And so they never asked her anything about her past.

When someone spoke of the legend of Cecrops, the Lost Mariner Gabrielle simply said:  “I knew Cecrops.” This small, brief glimpse into the warrior’s life so shocked the Elijians that all they could do was stare down at their hands uncomfortably until Gabrielle rather lamely completed her thought.  “He was a good man.”  With that, she awkwardly gathered up her weapons, murmured something about relieving one of the sentries and walked off.

On the edge of the camp, Gabrielle stood motionless, her head cocked to one side, listening to the sounds behind the silence.  The fire crackled and hissed, the gentle rushing sound of the nearby stream, somewhere to the north an owl hooted and one soft, faint footstep.  “Soria.”

Soria stepped out of the shadows into the dim moonlight.  “How did you know it was me?  Did you recognize my footsteps?”

Gabrielle shook her head but kept it cocked, still listening.  “You’ve been sneaking up to watch me for three nights now.  Mind telling me what it is you find so fascinating?”

Soria blushed at having been found out.  “I just wanted to learn.”

“And did you?”

Soria pressed her lips together.  “You’ve set traps all around the edges of the camp.  That’s why you’ve warned none of us to wander off at night.”

Even in the dark, Soria could see a look of guilt flash over Gabrielle’s face.  “Have you told your brother about the traps?”

The girl shook her head.  “No.  What Joseph doesn’t know won’t hurt him.  He and I have some…philosophical differences.  He believes in fighting your enemies with love and compassion.  That’s fine in an ideal world but sometimes you have to fight them with a sword.  If we had stood up to Nero back in Rome we-.”

“Would all be dead now,” Gabrielle cut her off.  She glanced at Soria.  “And I bet you want me to teach you everything I know, don’t you?”

Soria shrugged in admission.

Gabrielle smiled softly, it wasn’t meant to wound.  “Soria, a faith abandoned in a time of crisis is not faith at all.”

“I respect the faith of Eli,” Soria retorted.  “But it’s never been my faith.  It was my parents way before…”  The girl trailed off and shivered.  After she regained herself she continued.  “And what did it get them but a violent death at the hands of the people they were taught to love?  Joseph has chosen the same way and I fear he’ll meet the same fate.  If that’s to be my fate as well I want to take as many Romans as possible with  me.   It’s my choice.  Doesn’t Eli’s God believe in free will?” 

Gabrielle nodded.  “But He doesn’t believe in blind hatred and that’s what I fear motivates you.”

“Lecture me when you find your parents hanging from a cross,” Soria snapped bitterly.

Gabrielle started to say something but kept quiet.

“At least teach me so I stand a fighting chance.”

Gabrielle was silent for several moments.  When she spoke, Soria was sure she heard a catch in the older girl’s throat.  “I’ll think about it.”

*****

Soria was awakened the next morning to sounds of Gabrielle moving about the tent.  “Where are you going?”

Gabrielle fastened a red hilted sword whose design was foreign to Soria to her waist.  “I’m going to check the camp.  Something’s not right.”

Soria jumped to her feet.  “I’m going with you.”

The morning was too quiet, too still.  Grasping the sword by the hilt, Gabrielle darted from tree to tree.  At one point, Soria almost stepped into one of the traps but Gabrielle snatched her back at the last minute, pulling her behind a tree.

With a tilt of her head, she indicated that something was out there, over the rise.  “Soria,” she whispered, “run back to camp and warn the others.  Tell them to run!”

Soria nodded, her will the only thing keeping her from being paralyzed with fear.  She took off at breakneck speed.

Gabrielle guessed there to be twenty to twenty five soldiers coming over the rise.  She knew she had very little chance of stopping them alone.  But if she could bloody their noses, slow them down enough, the others stood a chance of getting away.  As the soldiers began to swarm over the rise, Gabrielle pulled the chakram from her waist and flung it.  Aiming for their legs, it took down three men in rapid succession.  It rebounded off a tree and she caught it, spinning her arm in the same direction to absorb the impact.  She clipped the chakram to her waist and drew the katana. 

When she was sure they had spotted her, Gabrielle took off, darting between the trees.  Four soldiers were close on her heels.  One raised his short sword, about to strike a blow to her neck when Gabrielle suddenly leaped.  The short sword came down, only grazing her neck.  She shot her arms out, landing hands first.  Gabrielle tucked her head and rolled, the momentum propelling her back onto her feet.  She took off running again, chancing a look over her shoulder.  The four soldiers had fallen into the pit she had disguised with leaves and branches, all four impaling themselves on the wooden stakes she had set.

Her mind worked quickly, trying to remember all the traps she had set the night before.  The second pit she dug downed two more men.  By then, Gabrielle knew she wouldn’t fool them a third time.  She doubled back, leading the soldiers away from the camp.  She made it back to the rise and turned, prepared to confront her pursuers. 

Through a clearing in the trees, Gabrielle could see the camp being taken.  The Elijians surrendered without a fight, all except for Soria who charged at one of the soldiers, tackling him to the ground.  Soria sprawled in the dirt.  The soldier gained to his feet quickly, drawing his sword.

“No!” Gabrielle whipped her chakram from her waist.  She flung it, severing the blade of the sword as it was about to come down on Soria’s neck.   She caught it on the rebound and saw five soldiers charging at her too late.  Before she had time to react, a sword came swinging at her, slashing her shoulder open.  Gabrielle lost her grip on the katana.  Momentarily dazed from the pain, she did not see the hilt of another sword coming at her.  The last thing she heard was a sharp, metallic ping as the hilt smashed her temple.

                                                            *****

She did not know how long she was out.  When she came to, her vision was blurry and she didn’t know where she was.  “Xena?”  She attempted to sit up but a hand on her shoulder pushed her down gently.

“No.  You’re  hurt.  Lie still and let me clean your wounds.”

“Mmmm…”  Gabrielle shut her eyes and smiled weakly.  “Did you get the name of the Son of a Bacchae that did this?  It’s not so bad,” she murmured.  “I hurt myself worse with my staff drills in the beginning.  Remember how black and blue I was?”  She nearly drifted off but caught herself.  “Where were you?  I held them off as long as I could but without you I just can’t seem to-.”

“You did the best you could,” came the voice.  “This is going to hurt a little.”

Gabrielle felt the cold water sting the gash on her shoulder.  She gasped and her eyes came open.  “What the-?”  She focused on the face hovering over her and her mind cleared a little.  “Soria.  You’re…”

“I’m all right,” she said softly.  “Thanks to you.  You’re as crazy as Nero for trying to stop all twenty five soldiers by yourself.”

Gabrielle attempted a smile which came out twisted and bitter.  “I’ve seen one warrior take on a lot more than twenty five soldiers at one time.  And win.”

“Well, you’re no Hercules,” Soria said.

“No,” Gabrielle agreed.  “He’s much taller and his hair is much longer.  Soria, what happened to the others?  Are they all-?”  She could not even complete the thought.

“They’re fine.  They’re in different cells.  Apparently the emperor wants his trophies alive.  He wants the pleasure of killing us himself.  Can you sit up?  I need to tend to your neck.”

“If you help me.”  Gently, Soria helped Gabrielle into a sitting position and the blonde woman groaned.  Carefully, she probed her temple.  “My head feels like Monday morning in Tartarus.”  She looked around.  “Where are we?”

“As near as I can figure, Thrace,” Soria told her while dabbing at the cut on Gabrielle’s neck.

That was the height of irony, Gabrielle thought.  To die in the birthplace of the woman that gave her life.  She shuddered, as if shaking off such a dour feeling.  What was happening to her?  “We are not dying here,” she thought and was shocked to realize that the words had escaped her lips.

“I appreciate your confidence,” Soria said dabbing at her neck.  “Your foot looks like it’s been severed.”

“What?”

Soria touched the base of Gabrielle’s neck where the dragon tattoo ended.  “It looks as if the foot was cut right off.  Where did you get this anyway?”

A sharp clang at the end of the corridor brought their heads up.  Footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor.  Something inside of Gabrielle forced her to stand.  She was not about to let these bastards think they had beaten her.  Taking her lead, Soria rose, slipping her hand under Gabrielle’s arm to steady her.  The guard appeared at their cell door.  “All right, you two.  Time to look presentable.  The General wants to see you.”

                                                            *****

Gabrielle was expecting opulence in the residence of a Roman general.  Instead, his headquarters were functional.  There were no statues, no ornate gold decorations.  The furniture, she noted, was made for comfort, not for presentation.  It was the residence of a true soldier.  Whether that was a good omen or not, she wasn’t sure.

“Leave us,” a strong voice came from behind a large desk.  Though the General had his back to them, the guard saluted and left.

“So, you are the two that assaulted my men?”

“Not assaulted,” Gabrielle corrected,  “defended ourselves.”

“And yet you are followers of Eli?”  The General turned to them and Gabrielle was surprised by what she saw.  He was a relatively young man, perhaps ten years older than herself.  His close cropped brown hair showed streaks bleached by the sun, and his arms were darkened to a bronze.  His pale blue eyes widened in question.

Gabrielle was unsure as to what her answer was and glanced at Soria.  If looks were daggers, this Roman would have been dead by now.

 “You’re hurt,” he commented with such concern in his voice that Gabrielle was instantly wary.  “I could have my physician see to your wounds.”

“Your concern is admirable considering the fact that you intend to execute us,” she spat resentfully.

He pressed his lips together, as if bruised by her contempt.  He glanced at Soria.  “And your friend?  Is she well?  Doesn’t she speak?”

“She speaks,” Soria snapped.  “She’s trying to find the words to properly convey her hatred of you.”

“Understandable,” he murmured and gestured with his hands.  “Sit.  Please.”

Soria hesitated and glanced questioningly at Gabrielle out of the corner of her eye.  The small blonde warrior gave the girl a slight nod.  Carefully, Gabrielle eased herself into a chair with a faint hiss of pain that escaped through clenched teeth.  Soria perched herself on the edge of her seat, letting the general know that to make herself any more comfortable was a compromise she was not willing to strike. 

He smiled nervously.  “Since you are my prisoners it would be uncivilized if I did not give you the courtesy of knowing who captured you.  I am Marcus Placidus,  General of the Fifth Legion of Pisae.”  The women made no reply to this and he gestured to a bowl of fruit on the table.  “Are you hungry?”

“We’re wondering what we’re doing here,” Gabrielle retorted. 

“Your Latin is curious,” Marcus said.  “You aren’t Roman?  Greek perhaps?”  Gabrielle nodded slowly and he came around the table.  “I was in Egypt until four months ago.  All along the Nile there was talk-legends really-of a Greek warrior woman with golden hair.  It was said she fought with the courage of Hercules and the wisdom of Athena.”  Marcus circled around Soria, behind them.  “The legend became so great that the locals took to calling her the Little Dragon because of her size and the tattoo on her back that was thought to be so magical that even the mystics feared it.”  He stopped and Gabrielle felt his eyes on her back.  “Of course I always doubted those legends.  Until now.”

“If it’s me you want then take me,” Gabrielle said over her shoulder.  “Let the others go.  They’re peaceful people and they’ve done nothing.  They’re innocent.”

Marcus came around to look Gabrielle in the eye.  “And if I asked for your word of honor on that?”

“Why would you believe anything that I had to say?”

Admiration was apparent in his smile.  “Because anyone that fights like you, with such nobility and humanity holds their honor sacred.”

Gabrielle looked up at him.  “And if I give you my word, will you give me yours that these people will not be hurt?”

Marcus nodded without even a pause.  “Yes.  You have my word on that.”

“All right,” Gabrielle agreed.  “And you have mine.  My word of honor that these people have done nothing to offend the Emperor.”

Marcus Placidus clapped his hands together delightedly.  “Excellent.  You see?  Diplomacy is better handled with a civilized word than at the tip of a spear.  It will, of course, be up to the Emperor to pardon you.  But I can promise you that I will speak as your advocate when the time comes and that you will be treated well as long as you are in my care.”

Gabrielle nodded.  “I’ll hold you to your promise.”  She rose with a soft groan only Soria heard.  “By the way,  your Greek is not perfect, General.  The actual saying is ‘Diplomacy is better acquired with civilized speech than at the end of a sword.’”

“I stand corrected,” Marcus said with a slight bow.

                                                            *****

True to his word, Marcus Placidus treated his prisoners as well as he could.  They were fed decently.  In the afternoons he would let them out of their cells and into the courtyard for fresh air and some exercise.  This was always under the close scrutiny of the guards.  But Marcus Placidus had his men under strict orders.  As long as the prisoners posed no threat, they were not to be mistreated in any way.  He was also surprisingly tolerant of their religion.  The Elijians were allowed to worship every afternoon.

A week later, Gabrielle was mending well.  Soria had sewn her wound closed and Gabrielle was pleased with the girl’s work.  One afternoon, she walked the courtyard, grateful to stretch her sore muscles.  Soria walked beside her, copying her every move.  If she stopped walking, Soria stopped.  If she started, Soria started, matching Gabrielle’s stride.  If Gabrielle happened to turn her face to the sun to bask in it’s warm glow, Soria did likewise.  They went on like this for hours.  Gabrielle was torn between mild amusement and irritation. 

Shockingly, Marcus Placidus came out to the courtyard one afternoon.  He inspected the prisoners well being as they prayed, then crossed the yard to the girls.  “Your friends seem to be doing well.  Don’t you two ever join them in their prayers?”

“I’m not much for praying,” Gabrielle said.

He looked to Soria.  “And you?  Isn’t that your brother leading them?” 

“Joseph has his way and I have mine.”  A simple statement but Gabrielle heard the underlying meaning to her words.  I would sooner slit your throat than be a hypocrite.  The sentiment was there, but the girl held her tongue.  That was a step in the right direction.

Marcus Placidus prided himself on intuitiveness.  He knew what Soria meant but chose to ignore it, blaming it on the brash impetuousness of youth.  “Well, your god does believe in free will, does he not?” 

He turned to Gabrielle.  “And I see that you’re mending well, Little Dragon.  I’m pleased. That leads me to a request I have of you now that you’re feeling better.  Since your knowledge of Greek and Greek literature is obviously better than mine, perhaps you would be willing to undertake a pupil?  My library is quite large.  But I’m afraid I’ve never had much of an ear for your language.  I’d welcome a guide.”

Gabrielle was shocked at his request.  But she found herself smiling dryly, as if making a joke at her own expense.  “I should warn you.  It’s been quite some time since I spoke my own language.”

Marcus smiled.  “Then we’ll both learn together.”

Gabrielle nodded.  “Then I’m at your service, General.  But I have one request.  That name-Little Dragon.  Your men refer to me by it.  My friends have even started using it.  I don’t like it.  I never have.”

He lifted an eyebrow in question.  “What am I supposed to call you?  You’ve never told me your given name.”

“Gabrielle.”

“Gabrielle,” he repeated.  “Hebrew for ‘God gives strength.’  A fitting name for a warrior of your reputation.  Well,” he gave her a glance that made her strangely uneasy.  “Until tomorrow then, Little...Ah, Gabrielle.” 

Soria waited to show her disbelief until Marcus Placidus was out of earshot.  “You’re going to tutor him in Greek?  That Roman?”

 “He’ll be a valuable ally when the time comes.  Helping him translate Euripedes is a small price to pay if it means our safety.”

Soria sniffed indignantly.  “What makes you so sure you can trust him?”

“He seems like a decent, honorable man.”

Soria snorted.  “Perhaps you have too much faith in him.”

 “Soria, faith is all we’ve got right now.”

“I’ve seen you fight.  You could take him.”

Gabrielle nodded.  “Right.  And if I was able to, what about the other fifty or so soldiers in this prison?  Do you think they’re going to just let me free everyone and stroll out of here?  You said you wanted to learn from me.  That’s your first lesson.  Discretion is often the better part of valor.”

Soria studied Gabrielle, resentment glinting in her eyes.  “That’s not what I meant.”

Gabrielle shrugged.  “It’s basic.  You’ve got to start somewhere.  The rest comes later.”

The girl frowned.  “How much later?”

“When I’m sure you won’t do something stupid and get yourself killed.”

                                                            *****

Gabrielle and Marcus Placidus spent many afternoons together in the following weeks.  She was surprised and pleased with his near reverence for literature.  Gabrielle had never met anyone before that she could talk with for hours about Aeschylus or Euripedes or even Homer.  Anytime she would start to talk with Xena about a play or poem she had just read, Xena would nod politely, but Gabrielle could see her eyes glaze over from boredom.  She had nearly forgotten this part of her life and was almost grateful to Marcus Placidus for re-awakening that part of her. 

Despite herself, Gabrielle was beginning to like him.  He was intelligent, exceedingly polite and proper for a soldier and not without a certain sense of humor.  There were times during their lessons that she would have to remind herself who he was and what he represented to rekindle her hatred of him.  But those times were occurring less and less frequently and her hatred was diminishing, she observed with a certain amount of confusion.

Soria was growing suspicious of her relationship with Marcus Placidus and questioned her daily about what they did every afternoon.  Gabrielle insisted that all they did was discuss theater and literature, which was the truth.  Marcus knew little, if anything about her.  And she knew very little of him.   And yet despite Gabrielle’s assurances, Soria was still openly skeptical. 

The two girls were becoming close, partly out of necessity since they shared a cell together.  And Gabrielle noticed that the closer they grew, the more irritating Soria seemed to be.  She began to resent Soria’s youthful impetuousness.  Most annoying of all was the way Soria could seemingly talk non-stop for hours. 

When it got to the point of Gabrielle almost fantasizing about using physical force to shut Soria up, she decided to direct the younger girl’s energies towards less talkative activities.  Procuring two brooms from the courtyard, she started teaching the girl basic staff techniques late at night away from the watchful eye of the guards.  In the beginning, Gabrielle would laugh herself to sleep with a touch of satisfaction over the amount of times Soria hit herself in the head performing her drills.  But she had to admit the girl was a quick study.  And it kept her quiet.

Slowly, Marcus and Gabrielle had come to trust one another.  Marcus enjoyed climbing the hills surrounding the prison.  He  had asked that she give her word not to try to escape if they moved their daily meetings outside of the prison so that they could enjoy the fresh air.  Gabrielle agreed and then wondered if she had made a mistake.  From their spot on the hill, she could plainly see Amphipolis on a clear day and her heart would ache so terribly that she had to look away.

“Nero has come to Greece,” Marcus Placidus announced one afternoon before they had the opportunity to plunge into Prometheus Unbound.  “He’s on his way to Athens to attend the theaters.”

She looked up at him in astonishment.  “A Roman Emperor has a taste for the Greek Arts?”

He smiled teasingly.  “Scandalous, I know.  Nero’s own mother is disgusted by his tastes. 

“He’ll be coming to Thrace to inspect my legion.  He should grant your pardon then.”

“And then we’ll all be free to go?”

“Free to go,” Marcus repeated with a slight nod.  He looked down at her.  “Tell me something, Gabrielle.  I believe I know the kind of woman you are.  Courageous and possessing more skills with a sword than most of my men.  Why didn’t you ever try to escape?”

“Because I would have had to hurt a lot of people.  And I know that Joseph and his followers would sooner die than see that happen for their sakes.”

Marcus shook his head.  “I don’t think I’ll ever understand Elijians.”

“There’s nothing to understand.  They believe the power of love can conquer hate.”

His gaze bore into her.  “Do you believe that, Gabrielle?”

“I’d like to believe that love is more powerful than hate.”

His eyebrows arched in curiosity.  “And yet you go through life with a sword in your hand.  And there’s a small part of you that hates me.”

She moved away from him.  “I’ve never had much affection for Rome.”

“So you look at me and you see only the uniform?  My wife was the same way when we first met.  She hated the idea of war and hated me because of the profession I chose.  It took a long time, but she was able to see beyond the uniform to the man underneath.”

Gabrielle rubbed her arms for warmth.  The sun had ducked behind the clouds and the breeze raised goose pimples on her flesh.  “I didn’t know you were married.  You never mentioned a wife before.”

Marcus came up behind her, draping his cloak over her shoulders.  “She died seven years ago giving birth to our son.  The boy didn’t survive a week.”

She turned to him, recognizing the melancholy tone of his voice, she heard it in her own voice every time she spoke-probably why she chose to speak as little as possible these days.  Her pity and empathy for him melted away whatever traces of hatred remained.  “Marcus, I’m so sorry.”

He held up a hand, shaking his head.  He almost seemed on the verge of losing control of his emotions.  But the disciplined soldier in him asserted control.  “And you?  No husband?”

Perdicas had been gone so long and she had traveled so far since then that some days she almost felt herself forgetting him.  She shook her head.  “I lost my husband several years ago.”

“And no children?”

Gabrielle’s shoulders stiffened as memories of Hope came flooding to the surface.  It was a wound that she had fooled herself into believing was healed.  “No,” she answered sharply.  “There’s no one.”

Marcus realized how the question disturbed her.  Tactfully and as gently as possible, he changed the subject.  “Tell me.  That first day, how did you know the proper translation of such an obscure quotation?”

“Simple.  I wrote it.”

He laughed in disbelief.  “Wrote it?  You?  Gabrielle, my command of Greek may not be perfect, but I remember that saying from my Greek lessons back when I was a boy.  I’d venture to guess you weren’t even born then.  That came from the chronicles of the infamous Xena, the Warrior Princess.”

“Well, I prefer ‘legendary’, but you’re correct.”

Marcus smiled, as though amused by her delusions.  “Xena was crucified by Caesar almost thirty years ago.”

“It’s difficult to explain.  Do you recall the name of Xena’s chronicler?  Or did the author make no impression on you whatsoever?”  She held up her hand and smiled self-deprecatingly.  “No, don’t bother to answer.  I don’t think I want to know.”

                                                            *****

As the sun was beginning to set, they made their way down the hill back towards the prison. Without knowing why, she had told Marcus quite a lot about her life.  Not everything, but enough.  In fact, the more Gabrielle talked and the more entertained Marcus appeared to be, the more she enjoyed having an audience again.  Even if it was only for the moment, she was a bard again.  Odd, she mused.  It took a soldier, a Roman soldier no less, to help remind her who she was.  It was a part of herself that had been violently shoved aside by that newer part of herself that had emerged, the warrior.

Why did she tell him so much about herself?  So much about her life had been too painful to even think about since Xena’s death.  Why now?  Why him, of all people?  Gabrielle wondered that to herself as they walked. Perhaps it was her vanity.  She loved an audience.  And adoration, even if it was only from an audience of one, was even better.  It had been ages since anyone had recognized the Battling Bard of Poteidaia. And if Gabrielle had to be honest with herself, she had to confess that she liked the fame her scrolls had earned her.  Or, she finally had to admit, perhaps it was a desire to open herself to Marcus, for him to know who she really was, not the ridiculous legends of the Little Dragon.  That thought baffled her.  Since Xena had died, Gabrielle had felt no inclination to open herself  to anyone, nor did she ever expect to.  Perhaps that’s why she didn’t tell Marcus everything.  She left out many little details of their life together.  Small things really, but they were poignant to her.   Some things were just meant for her and Xena and would always remain so.

As they neared the gates, Marcus reached out and squeezed her elbow.  The contact surprised Gabrielle, but not so much that she pulled away.  He told her how much he had enjoyed talking with her all day and proposed continuing the conversation over dinner.  She had formed the word “no” but strangely, it stuck in her throat.  She was stunned when the word “yes” tripped out of her mouth.

                                                            *****

Dining in the typical Roman fashion of reclining, it was a relaxed atmosphere.  The sweet red wine that had been served loosened their tongues even more and they talked well into the night, barely touching the banquet of food the servants set before them. 

Marcus told her about his grandfather who had been taken as a slave in Gaul.  His master had been a horse breeder which had suited Marcus’ grandfather well.  He had an affinity for horses.  He was able to train them so well that he and his master had worked out a deal.  He would race his master’s horses and split the winnings with him.  The deal benefited both men.  Because of his victories, he soon made his master one of the richest men in Rome and he was able to buy his own freedom, soon making his own fortune in horse breeding.  Before the birth of his son, Marcus’ grandfather became a Roman citizen, thus ensuring the security of his family. 

Marcus’ father had become a senator, a life that didn’t appeal to the son.  But a life of duty to the Empire had been instilled into young Marcus Placidus.  He wanted a life of adventure while still being able to serve Rome.  And so he became a soldier, a life he was well suited for.  He was strong, brave, loyal and his men were unfailingly devoted to him.  “And yet,” he pondered, “right now I can’t help thinking how it might have been different.”

Gabrielle sipped her wine.  “Different?  How do you mean?”

He laid back on the pillows and brought an orange to his nose, inhaling the fragrant aroma.  “Our paths are so different.  I’ve sworn an allegiance to Caesar.  Yours is to defend the people that Caesar conquers.  I know once you’re free I’ll probably never see you again-unless it’s on a battlefield-and the thought…disappoints me.  I wish it didn’t have to be that way.  I’m a Roman soldier and it’s all I’ll ever be.  And I’m sorry for that.  Sorry for us.”  He reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

Gabrielle felt a stirring the moment his flesh touched hers.  It was comfortably familiar and yet excitingly new.  The wine had made her vulnerable and weak and she felt her eyes close, momentarily surrendering herself to the warmth and comfort of his touch.  But then she forced her eyes open and abruptly sat up.  “Marcus, please.  You don’t understand.”  She covered her eyes with both hands, trying to choose her words carefully, words that wouldn’t wound him.  “It’s not you.  It’s not.  I don’t think I could ever give my heart again.  I’m not even sure I have one left to give.”

She recalled a passage from Prometheus Unbound that she and Marcus had read just a few days earlier.  It struck Gabrielle how succinctly it summed up the state of mind she was in:

Thou losest heart when smitten with disease,

And know'st not how to find the remedies

Wherewith to heal thine own soul's sicknesses.

He sat up and studied her carefully.  “You’re afraid.”  It was not a question.

 She nodded.  “I’ve lost so much.” 

Marcus sighed and got up, moving to the window.  “When I returned home after my first campaign in Gaul, Aurelia-my wife-feared me.  She told me that when she looked into my eyes she could only see death.  In the evenings she began singing to me and reading poetry.  She hoped it would have a civilizing influence.”  Marcus gazed out the window, at some far off, remote point.  When he continued, his voice was tired and pensive.  “She reminded me that there was still joy and beauty in the world.  I had forgotten that.  When she died, I could still acknowledge that joy and beauty she showed me but I could take no pleasure in it.  I was empty inside. 

“But when I met you, Gabrielle, there was something that…”  Marcus shook his head, at a loss.  He turned to her.  “You made me want to feel…something.  Something I don’t think either one of us has experienced in a long time.  Simple…pleasure.”

She realized the implication of his words.  “You mean you want to…”  How quickly she had been reduced from a hardened warrior to a naïve, shy girl.

He smiled gently.  “I want the same thing I think we’ve both wanted for weeks.”

She shook her head and spoke, her voice husky with emotion.  “It’s been such a long time, Marcus.  I don’t even know if I can.”

He crossed the room to her, leaned down and kissed her forehead tenderly.  “Neither do I.  But we could try-together.”

                                                            *****

Gabrielle and Marcus took one another on a journey of discovery that night.  They moved slowly, exploring one another’s bodies and reactions and emotions.  It seemed to take hours for them to climb into bed together.  She was amazed that a man like him, a soldier, could be so tender and giving and gentle.  He was astonished that a warrior like her could be so soft and vulnerable when she allowed someone to breach her boundaries.  They both gave one another something that night.  Neither really comprehended it at the time and so they couldn’t put a name to it.  But it was there between them as they lay entangled in one another’s arms.  A small flicker of hope.

As the sun rose in the window, soaking the bed in a soft orange glow, Gabrielle stirred and stretched luxuriously, feeling Marcus’ fingertips trace the dragon on her back.  She could hear the smile on his face.

“I should like to make this dance.”

She laughed, a satiated, genuine laugh.  “I believe you did that a few hours ago.”

He leaned over, kissed her neck and held himself there, gazing down at her.  She could feel his hot breath travel down her naked back and she shivered, fondly remembering things he had done to her in the night.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear:  “Would you stay with me, Gabrielle?  Forever?”

She stiffened under his touch and she twisted her head to look up at him.  “Marcus,   I…you know I can’t.”

His hand kneaded her tense shoulders.  “Gabrielle, a few hours ago I found something I didn’t think I’d ever find again.  Peace...  Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it too.”

She rolled beneath him to look up into his eyes.  “You know that it can’t happen, Marcus.  Your empire is an abyss between us.  I’ve dedicated my life to the greater good.  Yours is dedicated to the glory of Rome.”

“Some would argue that the greater good is the glory of Rome,” he said.

“Tell me that when you’ve been nailed to a cross,” she said bitterly and pushed him off.  She got out of the bed, dragging the wrinkled sheet with her.  She stood with her back to him, drawing the sheet around her.  “I could never be a wife of Rome, Marcus.  You should know that.”

He got out of the bed and moved behind her, drawing his arms around her chest and pulling her tightly against him.  “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.  But after all that’s happened, how am I supposed to let you just…walk away?”

She placed her hands over his and leaned her head back to rest on his shoulder.  He unmistakably heard the melancholy in her voice when she said:  “You don’t have a choice.”

                                                            *****

Soria was on Gabrielle the moment the cell door banged shut behind them.  “Where have you been?  I was worried that something had happened to you.  If Marcus Placidus has hurt you in any way-.”

Gabrielle patted her friend’s shoulder reassuringly.  “I’m fine, Soria.  Fine.”  Too shy and embarrassed to explain any further, Gabrielle retreated to her cot. 

The look on Gabrielle’s face did not go unnoticed by Soria.  She had never seen such a look of tranquillity from her before.  She looked more closely.  There, in Gabrielle’s softening features, Soria was sure she might have even detected a small glimmer of shameless fulfillment.  She slit her eyes disapprovingly.  “So how was he?”

Gabrielle glanced at Soria, her face instantly darkening from anger and annoyance.  “I’m not having this conversation with you, Soria.”

“Why not?”  the girl sneered.  “What are you afraid of?  Afraid that maybe we’ll find out you betrayed us all just so that you could become the General’s whore?  Tell me, now that you’ve embraced Rome will you nail us to the cross yourself or is being a spectator at our crucifixion amusement enough?”

Gabrielle flew off the cot with a guttural yell.  She hurled Soria against the bars and closed her hand around the girl’s throat.  “Now you listen to me.  Whatever happened between Marcus and me has got nothing to do with us.  We’re all going to walk out of here together.  Got it?”  As if for emphasis, she tightened her grip around Soria’s throat.  The girl gasped and groped at Gabrielle’s hand, but she was not strong enough to loosen her grip.  Soria was not about to surrender and Gabrielle knew she would have to kill her before Soria admitted defeat.  The girl was that stubborn.  Gabrielle released her grip and the girl fell to the floor, gasping for breath. 

Furious, Gabrielle spun away, stalking to the other end of the cell.  She bent her head and pressed her palms against the cold stone wall, trying to reign in her anger.  “Focus,” she whispered to herself. 

The internal warning came too late.  Soria moved up behind her, raising the staff she had fashioned from a broom.   She struck a hard blow between Gabrielle’s shoulder blades.  More from the surprise than the pain, Gabrielle fell to her knees.  She heard the staff slice through the air again and rolled away just before it came down on her head.  She leaped to her feet and held her hands out in a placating gesture.  “Soria, what are you doing?”

The girl swung at her furiously with the staff.  “I like to know who my enemies are!”

Gabrielle jumped back.  “I’m not your enemy!  I haven’t done anything to-.”

“Liar!” the girl spat and lunged at her.

Gabrielle sidestepped the lunge and grabbed for the staff.  Quicker and stronger than Soria, she was able to wrench it from the girl’s hands.  She spun around, angling the staff to sweep the girl’s feet.  Soria landed on her back with a dull thud.  Before she could leap up, Gabrielle swung the staff down, the end grazing the tip of the girl’s nose.  “Stay down!  Don’t make me hurt you anymore.” 

Soria looked on the verge of continuing the fight.  She stared up the length of the staff and saw the resolute expression on Gabrielle’s face.  Miraculously, good sense won out and the tension seemed to melt from her body.

Satisfied, Gabrielle threw the staff across the cell and held her hand out.  Soria hesitated a moment before taking it.  When she did, Gabrielle pulled her to her feet.  “You are so stubborn.  What were you trying to prove?  Sometimes I feel as if I’ll have to kill you to get you to see some sense.”

Soria turned away from her and stalked to the bars.  “Then do it and get it over with.”

Gabrielle gaped incredulously.  “What makes you so sure I’ve betrayed you?  Ask yourself this:  if I had, why did I come back here?  Believe me, there are plenty of other places I’d rather be than stuck in here with you.” 

Soria kept her back to Gabrielle, giving no indication that she had even heard her. 

Gabrielle glanced around, as if searching for a way to reach the girl.  “Why are you so obsessed with fighting?”

The girl gripped the bars so tightly that Gabrielle half expected them to bend under the pressure.  “Vengeance.”  There was something about the way Soria said it, so cold, so calm, almost matter of fact, that it sent a shiver through Gabrielle.  “For your parents?”

She nodded.

Gabrielle came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder.  Soria’s response was a flinch but she did not throw the hand off.  “I know how you feel.  Believe me when I say that.  But once you set yourself on a path of vengeance there’s no turning away.  You know, a very wise friend once told me that ‘blood will have blood.’  I was lucky I heard that message before it was too late.”

“If I lose my life avenging my parents then that’s fine with me.”

Gabrielle spun Soria around so that she faced her.  “I’m not talking about losing your life.  I’m talking about losing something more important.  What’s in here,” she tapped Soria’s chest.  “You’ve got a good heart, Soria.  Why do you think I’ve taught you as much as I have?  If I believed you were going to waste all that on a vendetta I wouldn’t have wasted my time.  I could teach you a lot more but you have to let me.  Let the cycle of hate stop right here, right now.”

A tear shimmered on Soria’s cheek.  As if annoyed with it, she wiped it away.  “So what are you saying?  That you want me to be some sort of student of yours?”

Gabrielle smiled, inwardly laughing at a joke only she got.  “Well, I prefer the term sidekick, but you’re correct.”

                                                            *****

“Caesar will arrive in Thrace tomorrow.” 

Gabrielle sat upright and glanced at Marcus.  It was weeks later, after another afternoon in which Aeschylus had been abandoned in favor of more secular pursuits.  Perhaps too many afternoons, she thought to herself ruefully. 

She should have been ecstatic.  They had been rotting in that prison for months now.  Her life had never been a sedentary one and the endless hours she spent in her cell were beginning to take it’s toll.  At night, restless and unable to sleep, Gabrielle would pace her cell like a caged tiger.  Xena had once teased that there was nothing like an active love life to release penned up energies.  Gabrielle had scowled at the memory of her advice.  All those afternoons spent in the arms of Marcus had done nothing to channel her energy.  Sometimes in the middle of the night she would even wake Soria and challenge the cranky, half asleep girl to practice bouts with the staff. 

And yet despite this, the mention of her pardon, of freedom from that small, dank cell did nothing to lift her mood.  It had even put a touch of melancholy into her voice.  “Then this will be our last afternoon together.”

“Probably,” he said with a rueful smile and reached out to pull a strand of grass from her hair.  “Some weeks ago, I sent a dispatcher on to Athens petitioning for the pardon of you and your friends.  Caesar will most likely demand an audience with you.”

Gabrielle nodded silently, not relishing the idea of being traipsed out like an animal, as a prize of Rome.  “What is Nero like?”

Marcus sighed.  “He cuts a rather bizarre figure.  Usually in public he wears a dressing gown with no belt to hide his pot belly and wears a scarf to disguise the girth of his neck.  He smells horrifically and is covered with strange spots.  And he rarely wears shoes.”  He thought a moment and frowned.  “Perhaps I shouldn’t speak so candidly or irreverently.  He is the Emperor after all.”

Gabrielle studied Marcus’ lean and tanned muscular frame, as if comparing his attributes to Nero’s flaws.  She shook her head.  “How does a man like that become emperor?”

“I’m a soldier, Gabrielle.  I don’t ask those questions.  I’ve sworn an oath of allegiance to Caesar.”

“And therefore you don’t feel the need to question right and wrong?  Caesar decides that for you?”

“To a certain extent-yes!” he growled, losing patience with her.  “That dedication and loyalty has made Rome the greatest empire the world has ever known.”

“Regardless of who they trample along the way.  What would you do, Marcus, if Nero ordered me to be executed?  Would you do it?  Would you do it for the glory of Rome?”

“That’s not going to happen!” he snapped.

“But what if it did?”  she persisted while abruptly pulling on her boots.  “Would that finally make you question your duty and your loyalty?  I pray the day never comes when you’re forced to ask yourself whether that price is too high.”

Marcus turned on her so fiercely that Gabrielle fell back on her elbow.  Almost menacingly, he stood over her.  “You’re a fine one to talk about the price of duty.  How many have you killed?  And how many did you agonize over?  How much of your own soul have you sacrificed in the name of this greater good that you serve?  Don’t presume to pass judgment on me when you can’t even be honest with yourself.” 

Angrily, he turned, walked a few feet away and took several deep breaths.  It was not until he had calmed himself that he turned back to her.  “I’ve got to get back.  There are preparations to be made for the Emperor’s visit tomorrow.  I trust you can find your own way back?” 

Her fiery green gaze was the only answer he received.

Marcus bent and retrieved his sword.  It seemed ages ago that they first climbed the hill.  In their passionate frenzy the sword had been carelessly flung aside.  He fastened it to his waist.  “Tomorrow when you’re released, your horse will be returned to you.  Your horse and your weapons.  I’m sure you’ll have use of them.”  With that, he turned and stalked down the hill.

                                                            *****

Not surprisingly, the Emperor had requested the presence of Gabrielle the next evening.  What both surprised and troubled her was that while one guard bound her hands behind her back, the other one turned to Soria.  “You too.  Caesar wants you both.”

When she and Soria were led into Nero’s residence, every one of Gabrielle’s senses was offended.  Roman orgies were a disgusting display of gluttony and crudity.  In a quick survey of the hall, she observed the lecherous looks that middle aged men gave in response to the suggestive gyrations of half clothed, dancing slave girls.  Several guests had passed out either from too much wine or overeating, or a combination of both.  Gabrielle wondered how Marcus could be a part of this. 

She glanced around the hall, trying to catch sight of him.  He stood between two lounging guests,  one was an older looking gentleman that Gabrielle assumed was a politician.  He was far too old and withered to be a soldier.  Next to him was a young woman, thin, not unattractive, dressed in the height of fashion and impeccably groomed.  Gabrielle noticed her hand surreptitiously reach out and stroke Marcus’ thigh.  Her cheeks flamed involuntarily in outrage and she forced herself to look down only at her feet.

The crowd seemed to part around them and Gabrielle felt someone come up beside her.   A hand gently grasped her elbow and she looked up into the grim face of Marcus who had extricated himself from the gropes of the Roman noblewoman.  “Everything will be fine,” he whispered furtively and led her forward.

Gabrielle glanced behind her to Soria.  From the look on her face, the girl appeared shocked and not a little confused by the displays of base depravity going on so casually about her.

With gentle pressure on her arm, Marcus signaled Gabrielle to stop.  He strode forward and cleared a throng of people.  When they had moved aside, Gabrielle got her very first look at Emperor Nero.  She had always had a talent of assessing people quickly and her assessment of him sent a shiver through her.  Marcus had not been nearly candid or irreverent enough in his description.  Nero was as fair haired as Gabrielle was.  As Marcus had told her, he wore a strange sort of dressing gown and scarf to hide his large belly and thick neck.  He was shoeless and suspicious looking spots mottled his skin.  From her position several feet away from him, Gabrielle caught a whiff of his foul odor.  But his freakish physical appearance was nothing compared to what she saw behind his weak blue eyes.  He was a strange mix of paradoxes.  Brutal yet weak, sensual and erratic, extravagant, sadistic, and almost certainly deranged. <