Disclaimer: The characters of Xena and Gabrielle belong to MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures. Disclaimer: The characters of Xena and Gabrielle belong to MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures.
Timeline: About six months after their official meeting.
Thanks to Kamouraskan for insights and guidance.
I’m always interested in hearing from readers. Comments can be made to: conductor22@hotmail.com
On the road, there is no shelter. There are no walls to deflect the wind; and it howls and moans in its agony, tearing at clothing with cold, grasping fingers as though in need of its own warmth. It slices and bites at exposed flesh, and the mind numbs itself to ignore the pain.
Six months into our travels a bitter winter laid its heavy hand on us. For weeks, we were relentlessly chilled. Occasionally, we found protection from the gusts, but the cold permeated flesh, bones, and souls. We had even begun to sleep together to use body warmth for relief from the chilblains. Nothing helped. And now the frost in our relationship equaled that of nature.
Gabrielle always preferred walking. Her pace had quickened with the cold, permitting the exercise to warm her. Still, I could see her clutching her cloak, shivering. Although I offered, she refused to ride, and in three days she spoke only when necessary. For months I had been trying to drive her away; and, finally, to my chagrin, it seemed I might have succeeded.
Every night, as I cleaned my armor or sharpened my blades, she would tell her tales, body swaying to the rhythm of her words, face expressing the emotions. Pretending not to, I would listen; but I think she always knew I did. For the second night, my mind was focused on our survival, on finding someplace warm for a break from the weather and hot food instead of cold trail rations. For the second night, she looked at me and knew I had not heard. Hurt glistened in her eyes. I could have told her my worry. I could have explained I was comparing our remaining rations to the distance we must travel before the next village. I could have said I was judging our ability to survive the cold to the miles before the next haven. I could have, but I chose not to. Let her think me uncaring. Let her leave me for her own safety. Then I would once again be alone.
Alone. One. Apart. I had been alone for such a long time. Surrounded by an army, I was alone. Wrapped in the arms of a lover, I was alone. Unable to completely trust or love any person, I isolated my essence if not my form. More persistent than any other, Gabrielle pounded at my foundation, hammered at my walls, and beat at my door, her merciless attacks on my fortress quiet as her voice, like frost-laden leaves in a breeze. I did not realize how accustomed I had become to her intonations until the silence.
This night I stumbled upon a cave so well protected from the blasts, I almost missed it. I fashioned a windbreak of sorts from the branches of a nearby bush. It helped contain the heat from the fire, yet allowed the smoke egress. Our shelter was large enough to allow for Argo, yet small enough to warm, and while gathering wood for the fire, I stumbled across a rabbit. Its leg was broken, so in ending its life, I saved it from a slow death, and in gratitude, it fed us. Gabrielle thanked Artemis and Hecate. I thanked the rabbit. When our bellies were full, we sat, the cavern echoing the sound of flint against blades as I sharpened them, and Gabrielle, her forearms resting on her knees, quietly studying the flames.
“Gabrielle?” I asked, looking up from my task.
She lifted her head, her expression unreadable, but said nothing. I wasn’t sure how to ask what I needed to know. My mind fumbled for words to fill the hush.
“Gabrielle, will you be going home?” I tried to act nonchalant, but my blood thundered in my ears. I didn’t understand why my heart was racing. Wasn’t this what I wanted? Wasn’t this best for Gabrielle?
Lost in thought, she contemplated. I fidgeted under her gaze as long moments passed in stillness. “I don’t want to go home,” she responded, sorting through her thoughts.
“Then you are leaving?” I winced as I nicked myself on the blade.
Another pause. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted, and then returned her focus to the flames.
It wasn’t a bad cut, and I put my finger to my mouth sucking on it gently. It quickly stopped bleeding, but the ache in my chest continued. When we put down the bedrolls, she moved hers across the fire from me. It was warm, so there was no need to sleep together. I thought it might be better anyway as I would have to become accustomed to being alone again. I wondered why that bothered me.
Watching the reddish-gold glow flicker on the ceiling, I listened to her breathing. What a fool I was. I had taken too long. My half-hearted efforts to drive her away failed, and I selfishly allowed her to stay with me, to face life-threatening situations from man and nature, and to live a Spartan existence. All to keep me company, to tell noble stories of my redemption as I wielded sword and chakrum on behalf of the innocent. What was I doing? I was nothing more than a reformed warlord with a soul blackened by the conflagrations I used to destroy, always on the verge on backsliding to that violent life, constantly placing in danger the type of person I pledged to protect.
Turning my head, I studied her features, the fluttering light casting its shadows across her face. Such a gentle nature and kind heart. So young of body and spirit. In the short time she was with me, this paragon had seen cruel and vicious death, held the dying in her arms, and steeped her hands in the blood of the injured. She had walked miles, her voice bubbling in the open air, given the last of our supplies to a needy family, cheered a tavern of weary, hardened men with stories, earning dinars for more supplies. She cooked our food, tended our campsites, and stitched my injuries. She convinced me I had a reason to live.
Oh, Gabrielle, I wondered, what will fill the empty space in my center when you are gone? Will I be able to continue this quest? Fear clutched at my gut, and I tried to avoid thinking of my future life.
I began to drift into sleep when my senses flared to attention. I heard it approach, and my hand moved to the hilt of my sword. Feet shuffled in the dirt and stopped at our green barricade.
“Hello in there. I need shelter from the cold. I am alone and won’t harm you.”
Gabrielle stirred in her blankets. I stood, sword in hand. “Enter,” I permitted.
He stepped into the opening, pulling our screen closed behind him. He untied the dagger bound to his waist, allowing it to fall to the ground, and threw his cape over it. He opened his bundle, dumping its contents in the dust. Taking two steps forward, he held his arms straight out from his sides.
“Please, check me. I have no other weapons.”
I did, but I also knew that weapons weren’t the only things a person could use to defend himself or attack another. I myself have many combative skills and can easily kill with my hands.
By this time, Gabrielle was completely awake. “Please, sit down,” she said, offering the man some dried meat and a water skin and pointing to a spot near the fire.
“Thank you.” He ate as he spoke. “I should have stopped and made camp earlier, but I’m on my way home, and I thought if I could just go a little farther tonight….”
Gabrielle threw more wood on the fire and chuckled. “You’d be home that much sooner? Are you that close?”
“The foothills at the base of Mount Ossa. Another day.” He grinned. “Less, now.”
I relaxed and joined them, but I kept a watchful eye on the stranger. It would have been nice to get a full night’s sleep warm for the first time in weeks, but I knew I would rest little with this intruder in our midst.
“I’m Gabrielle, and this is Xena.”
The names appeared to have no meaning to him. “Polyeidus,” he said, extending his hand to each of us in turn.
“This place you call home must be exceptional for you to risk freezing just to be there a few hours earlier.” She did have a way of relating to a person, and he gave her a calm, open smile.
“It’s not the place, although Regret is a nice enough village. My wife will be delivering our first child soon. I want to be there.”
“Regret? Odd name for a village,” I noted.
“Sounds like there’s a story here,” the Bard countered, eyes brightening. She glanced at me and her smile faded.
Polyeidus yawned. “There is, but…”
“It can wait til morning,” I allowed. A look of disappointment fell across the bard’s face.
He hesitated. “The least I can do is tell the story of our town as gratitude for your kindness.
“We’ve all traveled far and hard,” I said.
Gabrielle nodded and returned to her pallet. Polyeidus retrieved his bedroll and blanket from the pile near the entrance and settled near the blaze, and I lay back down in my covers. She trusted him, and my companion was an excellent judge of character; so I drifted into a light slumber knowing I would hear him should he leave his bedding.
And I did. The fire was beginning to die, and the crack above our greenery door had turned from black to gray when he stirred. I woke instantly, although my eyes remained closed. Tracing his faint movements to the entrance and hearing the muted sounds as he rummaged through his things, I cracked my lids slightly to investigate. Polyeidus stood from his crouched position holding a scroll. Opening it, he briefly examined its contents, and then placed it where he had slept. He knelt, and muffled noises identified him as gathering his things into his pack. In the calm, he once more rose. Glancing quickly about as though quietly taking his leave, he strode to the cave mouth and, with a rustle from our leafed door, was gone.
My head turned, and I arched a brow at the scroll lying on the dirt floor. A thank you, perhaps. I thought. But he didn’t write anything. My curiosity—not that I would ever admit to having any—finally won, and I stole toward the parchment. Tossing more fuel on the fire, I held it up into the light and read.
Aeetes, son of Hylas of Troezen, stood before his beloved, Helle. Pledged to each other at birth, a bond had formed between them, a link beyond the contract of words and ties of family, a connection of souls. She was framed in the light of Artemis, dark hair flowing past her shoulders, reflecting the moon, and the stars shimmered in the night of her eyes. Sparkling beads of salt water formed rivulets along her cheeks. Once again, she tried to convince him to stay, but he insisted on leaving to find his destiny.
Helle repeated her arguments. He would be gone for at least a year, possibly longer. The dangers of travel, both by land and sea, were great. The wealth of their families needed no enrichment. She would miss him so incredibly surely her heart would break. Aeetes smiled and held her. He countered her thoughts. Time would pass slowly, but it would pass. He was an excellent swordsman, and the dangers of travel were an adventure unto themselves. He sought his own way to prove himself worthy of his lineage and her love. He would miss her incredibly, but they would survive. He would cross the Saronic Gulf to Aegina, Salamis, Attica, and his future, and when he returned, they would marry.
The next morning, he kissed her goodbye and boarded the Trident. His sea journey was into its second morning, not yet dawn, when they were struck by a storm. The seamen fought valiantly for hours, through the day and into the night, but it was in vain. They were thrown far off course, and their ship ripped apart. Aeetes clung desperately to a wooden remnant, buffeted by wind and water. He attempted to swim toward a group of survivors, but the gods would not allow it; and when the storm abated, he was alone. For days he floated, the sun burning him and the night bringing illusions. He would have given up had he not clung to the hope of returning to Helle. One morning as Apollo blazed high in the sky, he saw Hades on the horizon, his chariot speeding across the waters. As it neared, it became a ship slicing through the waves.
Aeetes was hauled aboard, but these dark-skinned men who spoke a foreign tongue were not friends. Months later when he arrived in the land called Cyrenaica, the story that he was a criminal was devised, and he was sold into slavery. For two years, he was beaten and abused as he labored for his master and struggled to learn the language of this new country. Finally, the lost lover was sold to a man from Bithynia. His life became easier, but he toiled over a year for this new master until the slave owner’s friend, Pholus of Larissa, appeared. While visiting, that old traveler became ill and bought Aeetes to care for him on his trip home. The man actually lived on the plains in the shadow of Mount Ossa where he bred fine horses. Aeetes served him well, and rather than slave and master, they became friends. Having no living relatives, Pholus made Aeetes his heir, and two years later upon the landowner’s death, the former slave became a wealthy man.
It had been over five years since the lover had seen his Helle, and she haunted his dreams at night. As he had that last night, he saw her in the glow of moon and stars. After long years of separation, he determined to return to visit Argolis and bring her to their new home.
Time marches on for those left behind, and he found Helle married to another man.
When she saw him, she ran into his arms and wept. Thinking him dead and in spite of her objections, two years after he departed her father married her to a rich, middle-aged merchant. She trembled in his arms, promising undying love, but her husband was a kind man, and she was mother to a toddler and an infant. She could not leave. He returned home alone.
As year faded into year, a village grew up on the plains and farms scattered across its acreage. The wealthy Aeetes became benefactor to the citizens of the area, and when time came to name the village, they bestowed upon him the privilege. To give name to all he felt for that one decision he made, he named the village, Regret. The chastened lover never married, carrying with him his love for Helle until the day he inhaled his last breath. His lands were bequeathed to the village of Regret with the stipulation that the area’s descendents would tell his story in the hope of preventing someone from leaving behind their happiness.
The barer of this scroll has not been able to tell the story, so it has been left that you may know. Give thought lest you risk your joy.
I rerolled the scroll and placed it where Polyeidus had laid his head. I returned to my bedroll and waited for Gabrielle to waken, watching her sleep the peaceful sleep of a life gently led. After a while, I stepped out of the cave. Although still cold, it had warmed considerably, and I thought it might be nice to stay another day or two. I could set some traps for fresh meat, and we could rest. Putting my thoughts into action, I went into the forest to do just that. Upon my return, I found Gabrielle finishing the scroll. She looked up as I entered, and I found a place near the fire and sat. It was quiet.
“Gabrielle,” I finally ventured. “About what we said last night…” I fidgeted as I tried to say it. Words are not a comfortable thing for me. “You could…I mean…it would...” Gathering my nerve, I blurted... “It would be O.K. if you decided to stay. I mean…whatever you decide...” The last faded as I simply ran out of letter combinations that formed coherent thoughts.
She studied me for an instant and said in a very matter-of-fact tone--“I’ve decided to stay.”—as though the decision had been made eons ago. Perhaps it had. “Xena, Polyeidus left this,” she added. “It’s about the name of his village.”
“Tell me.”
“Aeetes, son of Hylas of Troezen, stood before his beloved, Helle…” she began to read as she settled comfortably near the fire.
“Gabrielle,” I interrupted, “tell me.”
As she realized what I was saying, a smile spread a warm glow slowly across her features, and a fire burned in her eyes. I will never forget that moment.
She thought for a moment and began again. “A long time ago, before Rome was a power and Greece had gained and lost its own, when the gods were young….”
The End
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