Disclaimer: Xena, Gabrielle and Argo belong to Universal Pictures. The story which Gabrielle tells is based on the ballad of “Little Sir Hugh”. (I can recommend the version by Steeleye Span.)
© 1997 Mary Morgan
My thanks to the friends who read through this story for me and made such useful suggestions.
THE ORACLE
by Mary Morgan
I saw them as soon as I crested the rise. The dawning sun was behind me, and my shadow pointed starkly ahead. Towards two women and a golden mare, camped near the path where it ran out of the hills. The light was strong and low. It cast their shadows back the way they'd come. It threw little needles of light from even the smallest grains of sand. The light was a storm, I thought a little dizzily, and the shadows were sable banners which streamed in its wind. I felt a prickle at the top of my spine, the hairs rise on my neck: this was the place, all right. A bend in the road, an outcropping of stone which protected a hollow in the ground where a fire could easily be made and kept burning, a copse nearby to provide fuel. The place in my dream.
I paused, made myself breathe deeply, concentrated on calming myself. There was so little time: none at all for mistakes. The women before me were gilded by the morning's rich light. One woman, tall and dark, was dressed like a warrior. Flakes of fire fell from the bronze and steel upon her as she moved. The other was small, barely my height, though much slighter, with reddish gold hair. She knelt as I watched, began packing their gear, neatly stowing it into saddlebags. I drew in a breath, felt my chest grow tight. I had seen this before. Precisely this activity, carried out by this woman. “In a moment,” I thought, “she will look up and see me.”
And at that moment the woman looked up and saw me. She rocked back on her heels, staring. Then she called something, too low for me to hear, to her companion. The warrior glanced her way, took a long stride in her direction, then swung round to place herself beside and slightly before the small woman, facing me. Her hand went down and grasped hold of an odd looking hoop of metal at her waist. It was time for me to announce myself.
I started moving again at once. My feet crunched the surface of the path and stirred up little puffs of dust. It was so hot, I thought. The night had been close: it had never got cool and now here was the sun, adding more heat. My eyes wandered, over the brown, dusty fields. Wake up, I jibed at my self, keep your head clear. But visions persisted and clouded the world that I lived in. Terrible visions, of a land parched and blowing away because of the rot at its core. I shook myself hard, fixed my eyes on the women ahead. I needed their trust. They might be the cure. My dreams told me that, too.
“Good morning,” I said, trying to ignore the tension which strung me. The moon would be full tonight. There was so little time.
The warrior merely nodded. Her companion, still crouched by their packs, answered my greeting. She had to squint up to do so. The sun was still directly behind me. My shadow reached out and almost touched her knees. “Good morning,” she echoed, and fell to studying me intently.
Now I could see that her face was drawn and there were dark smudges under her eyes. I glanced at the dark woman. Her face was immobile, her eyes steady. I had felt her gaze on me all along.
“Do you have some water to spare?” I asked, in her direction. “It's not getting any cooler!” Inside, I seethed at my failure to get to the point, at the too loud, too jolly tone I heard in my own voice.
The dark one did not reply, did not even move. She must have heard the falseness in my tone. The smaller one's eyes narrowed a little and her face remained expressionless, though judging by the fine lines alongside her eyes and her mouth I could see she was a woman who smiled widely and often. However, she said, “Surely.” She seemed to come to a decision and then leaned over, reaching for one of their water skins. Before the warrior could stop her, she rose to her feet and took the few steps which brought her close enough to hand it to me. Over her head I watched the warrior tense, then school herself to imperturbability.
What an odd couple, I thought as I put the water skin to my lips and took a swallow, I wonder what brought them together. I continued to watch them both. The small woman's hands had knotted together. Their knuckles gleamed. She kept her eyes on my face. The little lines had deepened on her own, especially between her eyes, around her mouth. Clearly, something about me disturbed her. The warrior's hands swung by her side, lax, graceful, a blink of an eye from being filled with her sword should she wish it so. Neither woman had been deceived by my apparently chance arrival. They knew I was here for a reason, and the dark one at least would not wait much longer to be told why.
“I have to admit I was looking for you,” I said, just a little craftily, hoping I'd surprised them with my bluntness. Both took the news calmly, however. The younger woman nodded: the warrior continued to watch.
“My city is under a curse,” I went on, keeping to the speech I had prepared. I hoped they were the sort of people who believed in curses. I hadn't been, not really, not until this happened. “I think that you are important to lifting that curse. I've been having a dream for several nights. Always the same one, and every time I dream it, I see you. You're sitting there, by the path, staring at me, saying something that I can't hear.” There was more, but this wasn't the time to tell it. Or so I told myself. I may just have lacked the courage.
Though I spoke to them both, my eyes were on the smaller woman. But neither woman paid any further attention to me. She had grown pale. A light dusting of freckles stood out starkly on her fair skin. I could see from the sheen on her face that she had broken into a sweat. She took a step back, then another, not quite steadily.
The warrior was by her side in an instant, easing her down, kneeling beside her, settling her back on the ground by the grave of their fire. Her glance flicked up to me, locked my gaze for a second. Responding to the protectiveness which radiated from her, I spread my hands, settled down awkwardly, signalling, “Look, I am not a threat.”
She dismissed me after that, looked back at her companion. No, not merely that. Certainly more than a travelling companion. How much more? I wondered. How would she react when she discovered what it would take to break the curse. For now, the warrior ignored me. “Your dream,” she said to the small woman, who nodded. Then she pressed her fingers to her mouth and squeezed her eyes tight shut.
The warrior settled down so that her friend could rest against her, then set her hands high on her shoulders, let her long fingers knead the tense muscles in the back of her neck gently. “Easy,” she said. “Take your time, Gabrielle.” This was the most either woman had said so far. I detected an accent and realised she must have come from Thrace, far to the north and the east, over the sea.
After a few moments the smaller woman straightened, opened her eyes, cleared her throat. “You must think I'm crazy,” she said to me.
“Not at all.” I shifted my weight, my thigh muscles already protesting. I am always uncomfortable sitting on the ground, but I put this out of my mind. “I take dreams seriously. I have to, I'm an oracle.”
I watched their reactions. The warrior's lips thinned and curled, just a little, and she moved so that she could look down her nose at me. But you take your friend's dreams seriously, I thought to myself. Because it's her? Or because they've proved true before? The younger woman was more open. Not awed at all, but not disrespectful. I thought I detected a sparkle of curiosity in her shadowed eyes before she remembered where she was and what was happening.
“Tell me about your dream,” I said now, striving to keep any tinge of eagerness out of my voice. I could not stop myself leaning forwards slightly. So much depended on this.
“It's nothing really. I see a woman's figure walking down a slope towards me with the sun rising directly behind her. It's very hot and she says she is thirsty and asks for a drink, so I try to give it to her, but I can't. Whatever I do, I can't. The cup falls to pieces, or the water will run out, or it won't be water at all, it will be something else, something disgusting,” Gabrielle said, hesitantly, her free hand tensing into a fist, relaxing, tensing again.
I held my peace, but I thought, A dream which keeps you from sleeping for a handful of nights, and it's just me walking towards you from the east? I don't think so. You weren't really shaken till after I got here. Till after I told you why I had come. So I smiled at her, and watched her collect herself further. “Is that all?” I asked then.
I could feel the warrior's impatience, saw her turn her head and even begin to open her mouth. A rebuke, no doubt. Before she could speak, however, the smaller woman said, “No, not quite,” and the warrior's attention snapped back to her. Her brows were drawn and her eyes slitted. There was chagrin in her manner.
“I'm sorry, Xena,” Gabrielle said now, reaching up a tentative hand to touch her friend's supporting arm. “I didn't want to worry you.”
The warrior looked down at her sombrely. One eyebrow flared upwards.
“I trust you, of course I trust you. But I didn't know what it meant, and neither would you. You were already worried enough by my not sleeping.” It seemed the smaller woman could read her warlike companion's thoughts.
“Let me see if my interpretation agrees with yours,” I said, interrupting them. Time was running out.
Gabrielle looked back at me, swallowed, took her companion's hand. She glanced up at the warrior's face, but Xena turned her head away and started to glare at something over my left shoulder. After a moment, Gabrielle said, “You tell me I have to go to a well to give you the water you asked for. I've gone on my own and I'm very thirsty myself, but I know that you need the water even more than I do and that you are depending on me to bring it to you. It's a matter of life and death, or seems like it.
“I get hold of the rope and begin to haul up the bucket. At first it seems to be stuck. I can't even start it moving. Then it seems to be really heavy, as though it's an enormous bucket and filled to the brim with water. Or something heavier than water. I keep pulling, but the bucket seems as far away as ever, even minutes later. I'm soaking with sweat. It's in my eyes, stinging them. I can barely breathe.
“In the end, the bucket suddenly swings up into the open, as though it was playing games with me. I reach out to take it, but there's someone there before me, not you but another woman, dark-haired, tall, in long-flowing robes. Once again, the sun is behind her and I can't make out her face. She picks up the dipper and holds it in front of me for me to drink. I don't want to, but I'm so thirsty that I can't stop myself leaning forward to sip from the dipper. My lips are on its rim, I'm tasting the tang of its metal, when I realise. The smell is wrong. The colour is wrong. The stuff inside the bucket is sticky and thick. It's blood, and I am just about to gulp it down.”
She stopped again, to my relief. This was too close to my dream. I didn't want to face it again. Gabrielle was shaking, her skin gleaming clammily, her hand hanging onto the warrior's so tight I could see indentations in the tanned flesh. Xena was looking down at her again, but Gabrielle didn't see. She raised the fingers of the other hand to her lips and pressed hard. I guessed the small woman felt she was about to be sick, so I shook off my own shock and scooted awkwardly forwards and, daring the warrior's growl, got hold of her friend's head, looking straight into her eyes. Nice eyes, I thought. A soft sea green.
“Look straight at me,” I told her, “and breathe deep.” I concentrated on her, on what she was behind her eyes. The curiosity and imagination, intelligence and humour were easy to see, but there was depth and balance there too, I saw with approval. She was older than she looked, I realised. After a few breaths the tension ran out of her and she sagged a little. Then she glanced back at me. For an instant, I saw a spray of green leaves, the sun golden behind them. A rain drop falling, tear-shaped, crystalline, catching the light. It encountered a leaf, rebounded, arced down to the earth beneath, which it darkened. A vision. Another confirmation of my dream. More proof that she was the one I was looking for.
I let go of her. “That better?” I asked.
She smiled rather gingerly. “Much,” she said.
“Been feeling sick all the time?” I went on.
“Yes,” she nodded.
Then she slipped a glance up at Xena. The warrior had released her hand, was now sitting turned slightly away from us, her face averted. Sulking; jealous too, because I saw what she didn't, I thought, wryly. I went back to the small woman's dream. I thought I understood it to some extent. I wondered if she did.
“What do you think it means?” I asked when I realised she wouldn't go on without my prompting. For myself, I thought I already knew. She was the one, all right. Now I saw her, I couldn't stop myself pitying her.
Gabrielle shook her head. “I don't know,” she said, absently. I guessed her mind was still on Xena. “Nothing good.” She seemed to give herself a shake and pushed back the lock of her shaggily cut hair which had flopped over her brow. Then she reached over to touch her friend's upper arm. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “I didn't want to upset you when there was nothing you could do.”
Xena turned back. “Hades, Gabrielle, don't you know…I thought we'd agreed not to hide things…” She ground to a halt, plainly at a loss for words, plainly as worried for her friend as her friend was for her. I was ashamed of my careless dismissal of her feelings just a few moments before. Far more than injured vanity going on here. There was a bond between these two women, one which went deep with both. I felt a pang of envy.
The warrior looked as though she was going to try to say more, but then caught sight of me again, and maintained her silence. But she had covered Gabrielle's hand with her own, reconnecting them again. She seemed to get as much comfort from this as her friend did. Appreciating the emotion her gesture had betrayed, I decided I liked her, too. Just so long as she didn't get in the way.
“Well, Oracle,” Xena said to me. “What do you think the dream means?” Her tone was meant to be sardonic, I think, and rather mocking. She did not fool me, not now. She would snatch at any straw to help her companion.
“Cybele, my name's Cybele,” I said. Then I paused. “Let me think,” I temporised. In fact I needed time to settle my conscience. I had come to the moment when I would involve them in the nightmare that our lives had become. I felt a surge of shame, of guilt. This wasn't going to be fair to Gabrielle, nor to Xena, who would have to stand by and watch what ever happened to her partner. I should tell them what I saw in my dream, I thought despairingly, knowing that I would not. How I saw the curse broken by a rain of blood. I was afraid that I knew whose blood had dampened and revived the shrivelled fields. Suddenly I wanted to spare them. But really I had no choice, and no time left either. I had one last chance to prevent catastrophe, and Gabrielle was it. So my mind was made up for me, and I said, “To explain, I'm going to have to tell you how things are with us in Arinopolis.”
Not much later that day, we made our way together towards the city. We were not a talkative party. The warrior, walking by her horse, was clearly not one to chatter, and while Gabrielle had the mobile face of someone who liked people and enjoyed talking with them, she too was withdrawn and sombre. I understood their silence. What I had told them would make any sensible person thoughtful.
It was too hot to talk, in any case. Ahead, the air wobbled above the ground as though it were frog spawn, so saturated was it with humidity and heat. It rested on our shoulders and weighed us down, flooded our lungs and tried to suffocate us. It was late in the autumn, and it had been like this for most of the year, as I had told Xena and Gabrielle. Newly burnished by that telling, memories surged up and overwhelmed me.
The winds had blown from the south since just after the winter solstice, bringing first a false spring. There was no snow, but neither was there rain. Buds had appeared early, then were nipped by an unexpected frost. After that, the winds had brought nothing but heat and dust. Sometimes they were weighted down with heavy, leaden clouds, but they never gave us a drop of moisture. Those few flowers which bloomed had flagged in the drought, while wheat rattled empty ears as it scorched. Rivers shrank to trickles, then died in their beds. I longed to see green, to see any bright colour.
As the terrible year dragged on, we all knew that someone was wrong. People began coming to me for an answer, merchants, farmers, all sorts of ordinary folk, then finally Leander, the King. I told him what I told them all. That I am the Oracle and that I know something of curses. That I can tell one sent by the gods ten stadia away. “Find out why the gods are angry, Majesty, then find a way to appease them,” I told Leander, wondering what had happened to age him so. At the time, I doubted that what I had said would do any good. A little later, I regretted every word I had said. But how was I to know Queen Creusa would twist and exploit them in the way that she did, putting so many innocent lives in jeopardy?
As I was thinking this, we drew close to the city. Xena threw up her hand, and we stopped. I watched her face as, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, she studied the walls, the gate, the streets. I wondered how many times she had done this in the past, planning strategies for sieges and attacks. I could see her enjoyment of the exercise.
“How long?” Gabrielle asked, breaking the long silence. There was amusement in her voice, and I glanced round at her. A little smile had curled the corners of her mouth.
“They couldn't hold out more than a hour. I could take this place with 50 men, no, with 15! Those guards haven't even noticed us yet.”
There was disgust in her voice and I was inclined to take offence. It was my home city, after all. Then I took a good look at the guard post and realised with resignation that she was right. Neither sentry seemed to be fully awake. Probably handpicked by Megaeron, I thought to myself, intending mockery and suddenly aware that I might have hit on the truth.
“Lucky for them you're on their side,” Gabrielle said, and I saw both affection and pride in her face as she tapped Xena lightly on her side.
The warrior tipped her head and gave her an icy glare. Then her reserve wavered for a second and her own mouth quirked in a smile. “Yeah,” she said, and walked on with something of a swagger.
The jauntiness in her step lasted just until we stepped through the city gates. It had been increased by her encounter with the guards. She had obviously enjoyed giving them a fright, and Gabrielle had obviously enjoyed watching her. The smaller woman's grin had vanished seconds later, however, and she stopped dead. I couldn't blame her, though I couldn't explain what was wrong either. It was not as though we were facing ruins, or a stench, or the remains of executed criminals. It was just a fairly broad street between fairly tall houses. Yet it made me shiver too.
Xena had stopped by now, her golden mare beside her. The horse's sides were dark with sweat and she held her head low in the heat. The warrior, by contrast, kept her back rigidly straight, her head high. I applauded her will power, almost as much as I envied it. She'd make a better looking Oracle, I thought sourly, aware of how my clothes were sticking to me, of how the skin of my thighs were raw with chafing together. I wondered if I could justify a bath once I got back to my temple. There is a well in its precincts, but I was rationing the water strictly, making sure the households around were supplied as well as my acolytes and me.
My thoughts were so preoccupied with this that I nearly missed what was happening. “….back and wait for me there,” I heard Xena's deep voice say.
I opened my mouth to make some hasty objection and was forestalled by Gabrielle. “We've been over all this, Xena,” she said. I couldn't stop myself nodding with a touch of irony. They had, exhaustively, at the camp site before they set out.
“At least wait there till I can find out more about what's going on.” If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that the warrior was merely irritated by her companion's stubbornness.
“Which would waste time. Cybele thinks, and I think so too, that there isn't much of that left.” Gabrielle had recovered herself, I thought, as though fighting Xena's will reminded her of her own purpose. Her voice was clear and firm: she would not be over-ruled.
The warrior hesitated a beat longer, but then shrugged. “Right, but we stick together.” I saw her dart a glance in my direction and realised that her suspicions had re-awoken. I didn't mind. She would need that wariness if we were to succeed. All she said, though, was, “Where are the best livery stables?” We left Argo in them, in a shady stall with a deep bucket of cool water to drink, one which had been filled after Gabrielle had produced a gold coin and Xena had frowned and cleaned her finger nails with a business-like looking dagger.
The walk to my temple is quite a short one. That day it seemed to last forever. The streets were much emptier than usual, and there was not a child in sight. The few people who were out, stopped to take a good look at us. I could feel their eyes stuck all over me and this seemed to slow my steps as much as the heat. So did the little groups of men at street corners, all armed, carrying rusty swords last used by their grandfathers or knives filched from their wives' kitchens. They too would break off their intense and furtive discussions to watch us as we went by. I shuddered. It would not take much now, I realised. The fire had been smouldering for months; it was about to roar out of control.
“What does that mean?” Gabrielle was asking the question. I had to struggle to collect myself again, then looked in the direction of her pointing finger. A straggly yellow circle was scratched in chalk on the door of a house we were passing.
“That was one of the King's decrees,” I told her. “They had to identify themselves. Yellow circles on their doors, disks of yellow sewn to their clothes.” I paused, my strong sense of disgust compromised by my shame at my own cowardice. I wished I had had the courage to sew on just such a circle myself. But, I had told myself, I could do more good by not making myself a martyr. Yes, look at the good you did, I sneered to myself. I could walk openly in the street while the family within cowered behind closed shutters and a locked door, waiting for the riot which would sear through the streets, burst in and murder them.
“Why did they do it?” Gabrielle asked in surprise.
Xena joined in now, her voice a little rough. “They couldn't be sure their neighbours wouldn't betray them,” she said. “I suppose there was a penalty for disobedience, and another for concealing it?”
I nodded. Of course there was. Creusa thought of everything. She'd have made sure Leander included that.
“You're right,” Xena went on, “there isn't much time left. Just one more death, just one more rumour of a death, and your city will go up in flames.” It gave me little satisfaction to hear her echoing my own thoughts.
The warrior quickened her pace, and we got to the temple. It stands close to the centre of Arinopolis, at the end of a pleasant avenue which lets onto the main square. It was dark inside, and cooler, and I felt better once we were out of the sun and the street. I guessed that Xena and Gabrielle did too, looking at the way the tension left their faces, their shoulders. Gabrielle sighed, reached for Xena's hand. Xena was already reaching for hers. Their fingers were locked together again by the time we had reached the garden at the heart of my private dwelling space. I checked that the place was empty, and once I was sure that it was, I called cautiously, “Sita?”
Sita. My one real gesture of defiance. My one genuine act of courage.
She didn't answer at first. I had taught her to be careful and not come out until she was certain everything was safe. This had cost me many anxious moments of worrying. Had curiosity overcome her? I would think. Had she gone out and been seized in the streets? Or had a petitioner chanced upon her while making his way to the cave where I deliver my prophecies? (I don't need a cave for these. They come to me when they will, whatever the time and place. Still, folk have certain expectations, and since I disappoint most of them by my physical presence, I make sure my setting more than compensates.)
This time I had forgotten that I was with strangers, and so I repeated my call, adding, “It's all right. They're friends.”
Sita appeared. I guessed she had hidden in the cubbyhole where I keep the wood for my kitchen fire. She smelled faintly of fresh pine. This should have reassured me, but it didn't. I was doing it again, seeing something else in my head, seeing flames and a pyre burning at the same time as I reached out my arms to her and gave her a reassuring hug, carefully looking over her head while, before my inner eye, her flesh singed and crisped and burned. They don't always come true, I was telling myself as I stared at my drought-stricken plants in their pots by the window. Sometimes they're warnings and sometimes they're just memories.
“She's one of them?” asked Xena, speaking as though Sita was not there. She had barely glanced at her, and now was looking at me. I suspected it was awkwardness with children, not dislike of them, which made her act that way.
Gabrielle, however, walked up to the girl and crouched down so that her head was on a level with hers. “Hello,” she said gravely, and offered her hand. “My name's Gabrielle. My friend is called Xena.”
Sita laid her own hand on the small woman's. I was struck, not for the first time, by the startling colour of the child's skin. A rich, warm brown, like polished wood. The golden circles decreed by King Leander were actually unnecessary, as Sita's people were easy to distinguish. Their black eyes were distinctive too, and their small stature. But then, the purpose of the circles had really to proclaim their inferiority to us, and to demonstrate their vulnerability. A lesson both populations had learned.
Gabrielle by now had coaxed a smile out of the child, and one or two words. I doubted she had understood them. Sita's Greek was sparse and strongly accented. It didn't seem to make much difference. The small woman was embarking on a story, and the fact that perhaps only one word in ten was properly understood by her audience seemed to bother neither of them.
“She's a bard?” I asked Xena. Inside, I felt reassured. Another piece of the puzzle had slipped into place, and I felt a stirring of hope. In my dream, I had seen Gabrielle standing before the King and Queen, apparently speaking with passion. And what she said – that could be the trigger for what I saw happen after. My mind flinched away from that vision: from the blood. Words could be the strongest weapons of all, even if they were no defence against the anger they roused.
“She's a fine bard,” Xena replied, echoing her companion's earlier pride. She settled herself down on one of my stone benches, stretching out her legs. They were so long they reached the ring of my pool, now empty and dry, brown, crumpled stems and tangled roots all that were left of my lilies and reeds. The warrior's eyes never left Gabrielle and soon a small smile tugged up the corner of her mouth. I found myself charmed by its hint of a deep, strong affection. This woman had surprising depths. It must be a fine thing to be loved by her.
Then, as if she had sensed my eyes on her, the warrior turned suddenly and said, “And she must be dying of thirst,” raising her eyebrow over one ice-blue eye as she did so. I realised we all were and grinned an abashed response. After that I hurried off to fetch wine, water and cups.
“How did she get here?” Gabrielle asked later, after I had sent Sita to make honey cakes in the kitchen.
“Her parents died,” I answered the small woman. “Their house burned down. It may have been an accident.” I knew I had not kept the angry scepticism out of my voice. I watched Xena's lips tighten, the bard flush with anger. “The neighbours who watched assumed she was dead, but in fact she'd run out of the house and bumped into me.” It was a little more complicated than that. My presence had been occasioned by one of my more vivid dreams, but there was no point in telling that part of the tale.
“And you kept her.”
The bard smiled warmly at me, and I forbore to tell her that saving one little girl hardly made up for my monumental cowardice in other matters. But perhaps I could still do something about that. I glanced at the warrior, detecting impatience. She would be wanting to start, chafing at the delay, I guessed. Gabrielle leaned a little where she sat, so that her shoulder rested against the warrior's arm.
“When was the first murder?” Xena idly swirled her cup and looked into it.
“Just after winter solstice,” I answered, readily. I had spent a long time thinking about this.
“And how many did you say there have been?”
“Eight,” I answered and looked at them.
“How long between each one?” was the next question. My answer provoked the obvious response.
“So that's why you think there will be another one tonight,” the bard said thoughtfully. Xena's hand had slipped up, was idly rubbing along her friend's shoulders, her neck. She glanced up with a grateful smile.
Gabrielle was right. It would be a full moon tonight. In addition, the King was holding a banquet. This was why I was quite certain that a child, a white-skinned, blonde-haired, green-eyed child, would vanish from its home in the last hours of darkness, just before the dawn.
“Yes, there'll be another one tonight. And next day, when it becomes known, there'll be a massacre. All Sita's people will be killed, because they'll be blamed. Unless the truth is uncovered, and told. Only the truth about who is really behind this can save them.” And I don't know the truth, not really. I may suspect who is really doing it, but I don't know why. I can guess, but I can't prove. That's the problem. Perhaps that's why the dream led me to Gabrielle. Perhaps she can see further into this than I. I did not say this aloud, not yet.
“Why are you so sure it isn't them?” Xena said, her words chiming with my thoughts again. “After all, they are from far away. Who knows what gods they worship and what rites they perform in their honour.” Gabrielle stirred uncomfortably beside her friend, her face troubled, but she said nothing.
I said, “They worship the sun. They don't sacrifice anything, unless you count their words and their music.” The two women looked at me. I shrugged. “I mean, their rites involve the singing of the story of how the sun made the earth.”
It was an interesting story, I thought. The bard would like it. The sun became aware one day that it was all alone in the sky. Though Sita's people called the sun “her” and thought of her as their mother. This made the sun feel lonely, and nothing she did could cure her of the loneliness. Many years passed, each one adding to the weight of her solitude. In the end this loneliness became so heavy that it fell through the sun's fiery self like a stone. It was a world, a whole world, this world. She caught it and held it before her with wonder, for she was no longer alone.
I shook myself out of my reverie. This was happening all too often at the moment, I thought impatiently. Xena was looking narrowly at me and I tried to explain again, though I wasn't sure I would find the right words.
“We call these people “Them” all the time,” I said. They both nodded. “They call themselves Kem'r. Do you know what that means?” I looked at them both. Of course they didn't. “It means 'Us',” I said, and looked at them closely to see if they understood.
“I suppose we are all 'us',” Gabrielle said softly, “once we learn to see past the differences.” Her tone changed a little as if she had thought of something else, and her lips quirked. “It just takes time and patience. Don't you think?” The gaze she turned on her partner was shaded with both ruefulness and humour.
Xena nodded. Her voice betrayed the same subtle mixture of feelings as she said, “Even if it's an effort, it's one well worth making.” The smile they exchanged was full of memories, and tenderness. I smiled as well, in relief.
It was easy to get them into the banquet. I was going: as Oracle I was automatically asked. I usually dreaded the summons. When Creusa wanted something, she wouldn't leave me alone, and I didn't dare show how much her looks, her touches, sickened me. I had never brought guests before, but no one would question my right to do so. Just before we stepped over the stone threshold of the Palace, I hesitated and looked behind me. It was not quite sunset, but already very dark. Great clouds had smothered the light. I was shaken by my reaction, a terrifying mixture of hope and dread.
Gabrielle had paused too, and was looking in the same direction, her face pale but calm. I remembered how she had stopped me before we set out, in a brief moment while we were alone. Her face had been unexpectedly stern. I felt a rush of guilt and my conscience prompted me to begin: “Gabrielle,” but I had got not further.
“Cybele,” she had broken in, “it's important that whoever does this, does it willingly. You know that, don't you?”
I felt my skin flush hotly, more ashamed than I had been since I was a child. “I'm sorry,” I had murmured.
Gabrielle had considered me closely, unflinchingly, while I squirmed under her gaze. When we both heard Xena's foot steps, coming closer, she had said, “All right.” She had forgiven me. “I do know what I'm doing, Cybele. Remember that.” She turned in time to smile at her partner as the older woman entered the room. I had wondered what she had told Xena, if the warrior knew, too.
As soon as Creusa the Queen saw her, at the moment she entered the Great Hall, Xena became guest of honour. Creusa actually stood to greet her when we reached the high table. I looked at the hectic red in her cheek, at the gleam in her eye, and saw how deeply she had been struck by the warrior. A place was vacated beside her. Megaeron's. He normally sat next to her, from where he could “supervise security in person.” Or some such formula. Now he was made to move along the table, and his scowl showed how little he liked it. No place was made for Gabrielle, however. Creusa had either not seen her or dismissed her as some sort of servant or sidekick. When Xena seemed about to protest, I saw Gabrielle touch her arm and shake her head. The bard was right: the more she was overlooked at present, the better. But Xena's refusal, after that, to let her partner out of her sight told me enough: she knew.
I was seated by the King, as usual. From this vantage point I could see Gabrielle squeeze and push a place for herself at one of the tables reserved for upper servants, junior officers and diplomatic aides. She looked a little flushed. Strands of reddish gold hair were sticking to her forehead, turned almost black by sweat. It was very hot in the hall, hotter than it had been outside, and the air was heavy with incense which did not quite drown out the smells of sweat and food. I did not suppose they were settling her queasy stomach. At least there was one benefit of the court's refusal to ration its own use of water; the clothes and bodies of the courtiers and guards were reasonably clean.
This banquet, like all its predecessors, was a drawn-out affair. A course would be served, eaten, then conversation or entertainment would fill the interlude before the next course arrived. The first such interlude on this occasion featured dancers, but Creusa's attention was not really on them. Her eyes were always slipping sideways, to rest on Xena. She was lounging languorously on her couch, holding her great gold wine goblet by its stem, rotating it very slowly. Now and then she would raise it to her lips and throw back her head to take a sip. I was certain she knew how well this revealed the elegant line of her neck and allowed the candles to limn her profile with golden fire. It was obviously getting to Megaeron, but I saw with approval that Xena was ignoring the Queen. As ever, though she seemed to be scowling at everything with equal indifference, her attention was actually on Gabrielle.
Creusa snapped her fingers and had her slave bring more wine. She was breathing quickly, her bosom rising and falling quite dramatically. Now and then she raised a napkin to her upper lip. Her black ringlets tumbled over her shoulders, her brown eyes gleamed. In contrast to her agitation, King Leander's immobility was marked. He seemed unconscious of the woman beside him, of the dancers before him, of the good red wine in his goblet. His sallow face was sunken, his hair thinning and white. It seemed to me that with every passing month his wife gained in animation while he lost it.
Several courses later (it was fowl; pheasant and peacock, pigeon and swan, served in their feathers as though they were still alive) Creusa was sufficiently piqued to occupy herself in complimenting the warrior, asking her flattering questions about her exploits while turning her back on her unresponsive husband. I watched Megaeron, now very drunk, flush darkly, fidget, then lean over to say something to her. It caught her attention for a moment.
“You are right,” she told him. “It's as plain as can be. They worship the sun. Now the sun burns our fields dry. It must be their fault.”
My head reeled at the lack of logic, but, “Yes, Majesty,” the Captain of the Guard simpered. He had not been appointed for his soldierly skills, we all knew that, though he did not lack for ruthlessness, suspicion of others and a readiness to kill. Some said he enjoyed the killing for its own sake. I did not doubt it. “And who can say why they fled from their own lands? Perhaps they were practising the same murderous rites there. Perhaps we have merely helped them to escape justice.”
“If that is so, they will escape it no longer,” Creusa proclaimed. Then she remembered. “My husband will see to that. Once we have conclusive evidence.” She was right about that, I thought. One must have evidence. I preferred it to be authentic, however. Then she looked at me, and I froze in fear. “Don't you agree, Cybele?” she asked me. Those honeyed tones. I had escaped them so far, since she was directing her charms in Xena's direction this evening and wanted nothing particular from me. But now I felt them suffocate me again.
I swallowed, finally said, “Of course, Majesty,” feeling disgusted with myself as usual. Why couldn't I say what I thought? Then I caught sight of Xena. She was looking rather thoughtful and a chill of fear ran through me. Suppose she agreed with Creusa? A dark thought overcame me. Were they not two of a kind, both creatures of power, and both therefore likely to see matters the same way? Strong-willed, charismatic, ruthless, ambitious; they even looked somewhat alike. They could almost be soulmates. Moreover, Creusa's invitation to Xena could not be clearer: anyone could see it, except Leander. Xena might respond, might interfere, might choose the wrong side, might spoil everything.
As the thought crossed my mind, I glanced over to where Gabrielle was sitting, and shivered again. The bard was glaring in our direction, her face flushed. I detected indignation, and something else. Jealousy? Gods, I thought, let her not say something. Suppose she makes Creusa angry and gets herself thrown out?
At that moment, as Creusa snared a titbit from her plate and leaned over to offer it to Xena, Megaeron's patience snapped. “I don't like to see strangers coming in here and taking what is rightfully ours,” he snarled. It was obvious he was not, for once, referring to the children of the sun. Both Xena and Creusa straightened themselves and let one eyebrow crook in amused disdain. They might have been mirror images of one another. “And how do you intend to defend what is yours?” Creusa purred. She had weighted the “yours”, and the court knew that Megaeron had crossed a line and was no longer under her protection.
“With this.” Megaeron stood up, swaying, and tugged at his sword. It jerked out of its sheath, slicing within a hair's breadth of Xena. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Gabrielle pale and tense, but Xena merely smiled scornfully.
“With that little twig?” the warrior queried amusedly. She must hardly have been drinking at all, for her motion as she surged to her feet was so sure, so graceful, it seemed to happen without her moving at all. And somehow, the sword Megaeron had drawn was in her hand, and her own paring knife was at the Captain of the Guard's throat. “Though I suppose it depends on who is holding the blade, not its length.” Her tone was light, her eyes hard as ice.
“I'll k…” Megaeron began to splutter.
“Did I give you permission to speak?” Xena pushed the point of the little blade in further and a trickle of deep red blood ran down over the man's fleshy neck. “Drawing a sword at a banquet in the presence of your rulers and their guests. Tut tut.” She transferred her gaze to Creusa, who gazed back at her with open lust. “Perhaps you should send the little boy to bed without any more supper.”
Creusa laughed at that, her dark eyes sparkling, her red lips wet. “Yes, I certainly should.” She gestured and four burly guards moved forwards out of the shadows and manhandled their swearing commander away from the table. “In fact, perhaps he should spend some time in a bare room with only bread and water,” she added. The guards nodded and wrestled Megaeron away.
I relaxed. So, at her table, did Gabrielle. The plan, such as it was, was on track. A tangible wave of relief ran through the room and the sound of many voices talking swelled around us. I allowed myself a gulp of wine and turned my attention to what Creusa was saying to the warrior princess. “But if you could, which would you choose?” Xena merely raised an eyebrow and signalled indifference. Once again, her attention seemed to be elsewhere. “Surely you would want youth? To recapture your beauty and strength at their height. And to keep them.”
“Are they not at their height now?” the former warlord asked in mock surprise.
“Of course.” Creusa had clearly been wrong-footed and I realised that much of what she had been saying had been flattery: she had seriously under-estimated Xena. But then, she under-estimated everyone. And I had underestimated the warrior as well, I realised. Xena was not going to be seduced by Creusa. Not when her connection with Gabrielle ran so deep.
“Even so, to know you could retain them as long as you lived. Would not that be a great gift?” Creusa continued.
“If we are going to deal in fictions, I had rather hear a story.” Xena sounded relaxed, amused, off-hand. I could see her failure to respond had proved far more enticing to Creusa than any abject surrender would have done. “Will you not hear my bard, your majesty? She can tell a pretty tale.” I suppressed a gasp. This was earlier than I had expected. But perhaps it was better this way; things were in danger of getting out of hand.
Xena's suggestion had been addressed to Leander, but it was the Queen who nodded.
Xena's imperious gesture in Gabrielle's direction was obeyed immediately, as if her partner had been watching for it. I suddenly saw the situation from another point of view. Xena had been watching the bard closely: perhaps it was Gabrielle who had given the cue. The small woman might be impatient to begin. Perhaps this was her call.
Gabrielle was now standing in front of the high table. “Tell us a story,” Xena said carelessly. Then she looked under her lashes at Creusa and enquired, “Do you have a preference, Majesty?”
“No, no,” the Queen replied. She had barely glanced at Gabrielle, her attention entirely devoted to Xena.
“Your choice then, my bard,” Xena said. And as she spoke those words, Gabrielle smiled a dazzling smile, one which was reflected in Xena's eyes. And at that moment I realised, as I saw them so much in unspoken harmony, that Gabrielle, not the Queen of Arinopolis, was Xena's true soulmate, however unlikely that might seem on the surface. She was not like Xena, not her reflection. She was different, but equal, her balancing opposite. The other half of her soul.
The bard's first tale concerned the vanity of three goddesses and how it led to a war which destroyed an entire Kingdom. It was a familiar story, but she told it well enough to make it seem fresh and newly engaging. Xena had been right about her talent. I could see one or two faces in the Hall grow thoughtful at the slant she had given the tale. Nevertheless, Creusa seemed absorbed in whatever sensations her unceasing scrutiny of Xena provoked and unconscious of any undercurrents.
The applause done, Gabrielle looked at the warrior again, and she in her turn glanced at Leander. “Yes, tell another,” he ordered, and Gabrielle did. This time she told of a city cursed because its King had sinned most profoundly, having murdered his father and married his mother. This was equally well told, and by the end of it, even the Queen was listening, her face a mask, her eyes cold and calculating. There were many sober, alert faces in the Great Hall by this time, all paying close attention to what was happening. Now Gabrielle asked for no further permission. Taking a deep breath, the bard embarked on her third tale.
“There was once,” she said, “a woman of surpassing beauty. She was tall and slender and her long hair was the colour of midnight. Many men came from far and wide to court her, and in the end all were agreed that she deserved the King she finally married, though they were not sure that the King deserved her.
“They lived for many years in apparent harmony, hosting many banquets where the Queen continued to hold court and enchant her many admirers. And none knew, except her maid servant and the palace mirror maker, that she was not a happy woman. For each day she would rise and walk over to the mirror opposite her bed and study her reflection there. Although no sign of age yet marred her beauty, still whenever she gazed she imagined the lines which were to come and she would take some cup or bowl or comb and shatter the glass. In spite of this, the lines remained in her memory, and they shadowed each of her days.”
Gabrielle paused for a moment here, and took a sip of water from her cup. In the silence which reigned while she recovered her voice, I heard a deep rumble far off. Thunder, I thought, and took an instant to pray that this time it would not pass over in a barrage of lightning and noise, with no rain to show for its fury.
Although I was more prepared than most in the Hall, I still felt mesmerised by what the bard was saying. It had the unmistakable ring of truth. I had told her all I knew and all I had guessed, but it had added up to nothing like this. Then I realised. Her oracular powers must have allied themselves with her bardic ones, must be inspiring these words. Dreamily I watched the bard's throat swallow down her sip of water. She seemed, somehow, to know. And this, of course, was why I had dreamed of her and brought her to this place. So she could tell us the truth about ourselves at last. The lamps' flames floated serenely above their reflections in their dishes of aromatic oil, and their light gleamed on her face as it tensed for a moment while she put her next words in order before speaking them.
“At length the Queen could stand the torment of waiting for age to steal her beauty from her no longer. She went to an apothecary in the city, one known for dabbling in certain black arts, and from him received the name of a sorcerer living in the hills beyond. She plied him with much gold and from him received certain instructions concerning the preservation of youth. Then she had him murdered, and the apothecary as well.”
I was aware that the graceful body beside Xena had stiffened, that the long, white fingers were digging into the cushions on which they rested. The Queen's breath was coming hard enough for me to hear it. I smiled. Thunder rolled outside, much nearer now.
“As the spell directed,” Gabrielle went on, “she waited for the night of the full moon. The afternoon before, she slipped out of her castle and wandered through the city till she found a group of young boys at play, throwing a ball from one to the other. She caught this ball easily, and one of the boys came to her to ask for it back. He was white skinned and golden haired and his eyes were the colour of grass. When the Queen threw back her hood and he saw how beautiful this lady was, his heart was won at once and he gladly went back with her. For, she had told him, she lived in the Palace and would let him see inside it if he wished.
“She slipped in as she had slipped out and took him to a small room deep in the palace. There she plied him with sweet meats and honeyed milk, and since she had drugged everything she gave him, he fell into a deep sleep.”
The Queen's fingers curled like claws. I could tell she was staring at the bard. I was too. Not even the clap of thunder nearby could distract me. Gabrielle's face was calm, her voice low, her sea green eyes unfocussed. She seemed to be describing something she was watching take place just behind us.
“When he awoke, he was in a dark, damp place and lying on a cold slab of rock. He cried and wished he was at home in his bed. The lady was standing over him. He wanted to ask her to take him to his mother, but the words turned to ash in his mouth. She was chanting strange words and held a knife in her hands. Torchlight scattered from the rings on her hands and from the long, pale blade as she brought it rushing down, and pierced him to the heart.
“The Queen caught the dark red blood which flowed from his wound in a golden cup and drank from it. Then she took up the body and flung it into an old well which had been there long before the palace was built. And in the morning, when she looked into the mirror, she did not shatter it, because it seemed to her that her face was younger by more than two years.”
When the Queen moved, it caught us all by surprise. The courtiers rapt by the story, the King waking from the drugged haze in which he had lolled for nine long months, even me, in spite of the fact that I had seen this outcome in my dream. The bard's blood flowing over the floor of the Hall. Nevertheless, the sight filled me with dismay. Beside me, Xena was rising, turning, launching herself at Creusa in a heart beat, but she was too late. The heavy gold cup had hit Gabrielle and felled her to the ground before the warrior could get her hands round the Queen's white throat, cutting off the threats that she screeched.
I scrambled past Leander, put my hands over the warrior's, and pulled as hard as I could. She was growling deep in her throat, her eyes blazing, a slight, dreamy smile on her face. “No, Xena, no. Let the King deal with this. If he doesn't, we will have no rule at all in Arinopolis. He must take back power.” I pulled at her hands again. They seemed to be vibrating in time with her growl. I could not loosen them. I leaned as close to her as I could, and said, very softly, “Gabrielle needs you, Xena.”
An immense detonation immediately overhead shook every pillar in the palace. Dust drifted down from high above and the little flames in their oil filled dishes fluttered and quivered. The silence which followed sounded spongy in our deafened ears. Xena let go abruptly, tossing the barely conscious woman back onto her cushions, then vaulted the table to get to her partner. Gabrielle was already sitting up, one hand held to her forehead, blood slipping through her fingers to pool on the floor. The warrior snatched up wine and a napkin as white as her face, pried away Gabrielle's hand and dabbed at the wound urgently. “I'm all right,” the bard kept repeating. “Don't worry, Xena, I'm ok.” But she staggered when she tried to stand. Xena picked her up, ignoring us all. I saw her face for an instant, before she turned and strode out, and knew she was blaming us all for the hurt done to her bard.
“How did you know?” I asked Gabrielle the following morning, as they prepared to leave. I had got back to my temple long after them. There was so much to be done. Leander could not cope with it. He had never been very decisive: his weakness had stood no chance against Creusa's strength. Now that she and her henchmen were in prison, I could see it would be up to me to ensure they received the justice they deserved. Along with everything else. At least my acolytes had carried out my orders. When the curse broke and the heavens opened, they had marshalled as many citizens as they could find to collect the precious rain which fell. All my pots and urns and pans had been pressed into service, I had discovered when I looked into my kitchen.
The bard took a little time answering. Then she said, “I'm not sure. It was there in my head. I just saw it. It happens that way with my stories sometimes.” Her brow furrowed, as though she were not really sure exactly what happened when she told her stories. Then she shrugged. “And then there was my dream, of course.” I nodded. It occurred to me that a bard and an oracle have rather a lot in common in matters of insight, vision and interpretation. Though she seemed to do a better job of constructing lucid narratives from what she saw and sensed and felt than I had ever managed. Perhaps that was partly a consequence of her storyteller's talent, and what she had learned of the world and of human nature in her travels.
Gabrielle smiled wryly at me. “The dreams are a pain, aren't they?” I returned the smile, heartily approving the sentiment. They were: they never left you in peace till you had acted on them. I was pleased to see she looked better already, however. The smudges had faded from under her eyes, though a bandage covered the sizeable lump on her forehead. I knew it was crossed by a deep cut.
Xena came in carrying their gear and set it down neatly by the bench where Gabrielle was sitting. Settling beside her, she pushed back the shaggy flop of hair which covered the bard's brow and eased off the bandage. I watched her hands with fascination, remembering how they had held a blade at Megaeron's throat, how they had attempted to throttle Creusa last night. Now they made me want to weep at the sweetness of the tender care they expressed.
Gabrielle let her fuss over her wound for a while. Then she said, “Come on, Argo will be missing you.” Tugging at her companion, she got her moving towards the door. Both women were smiling. When they got there, they turned. “Goodbye, Cybele,” Gabrielle said. Impulsively, she came back and hugged me tightly. “Look after yourself, and Sita.”
I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and my throat close. “Thank you,” I managed to blurt out. “Thank you for your kindness and courage and…” I could get nothing more out.
She pulled back and looked me in the eye. “You're kind too, Cybele, and you have been very brave. Don't ever think otherwise.” Behind her, Xena dragged her gaze away from her partner and met my eyes. I saw hers had warmed to a harebell blue this morning. When she was sure she had my attention, she nodded.
“You're the brave ones.” I pulled the bard back into my arms for a last hug, thinking, They are. They did all that for people they didn't know and will probably never meet again. They risked everything for us. Not just their own lives but something far more precious to both of them: the life of the person each loves more than herself. I would tell their story to Sita, I determined, so that she could tell her people, and to my acolytes as well, so that it would never be forgotten.
I watched Xena and Gabrielle till the street carried them out of my sight. Already the children were back, I saw with satisfaction. Perhaps I would be able to let Sita out to join them, in a few days. It was much cooler too. The rain had lasted till the morning. Now the air was clearer, the ground darker. Looking at the houses around me, I realised that I could not see a single yellow circle. Perhaps the rain had washed them away. Clouds in the west promised more later in the day. This time, I felt confident, it would fall.
Just before I turned to go in, a flicker of flame caught my eye. It was burning low, very close to the ground. I crouched to examine it more closely and realised that the morning sun had caught the petals of two small flowers. They were deep purple in colour, though their flags were flecked with gold. Spring flowers, I realised, like those we had been denied earlier in the year. I was already planning to dig up the bulbs so that I could plant them in the safety of my garden later. They would flourish there. I looked up a little and saw another pair a short way off and more beyond them. They led back to the palace.
Head wounds bleed a good deal, I reflected. I stared a little longer at the place where Gabrielle's blood had fallen. The two flowers had sprung up so closely together that I could not tell which petals had grown from which bulb.
Author's note.
I found this story recently in a long-overlooked folder. It's dated February 1998. I have no idea why I abandoned it when it was clearly near completion. At that time, I had no suspicion that the story of Xena and Gabrielle would end as it did. Like Renee O'Connor, I thought they were a couple and would always be one. I expected them, their love for and loyalty to one another tested but unbroken, to walk out of the last frame of the television series together. Therefore this story, like most of my stories, is set some years after the end of the show, and they're still together.
Write to Mary Morgan
Home