Cover Art By Tango

By LadyKate

The Empress opened her eyes and closed them again, feeling the heat of her divine lover's body beside her. Well, that had been one weird dream... She didn't know what time it was, but she needed some more sleep; she wasn't getting nearly enough of it in the past weeks, ever since ... well, ever since whatever had gotten into Ares had gotten into him. She shifted a little to get more comfortable.

"What were you dreaming about?"

She started and turned her head toward him.

"What?"

He was staring at her with a quizzical smile. "You said some very interesting things in your sleep, my dear."

Damn. "Such as what?"

"Something about wanting me to kill a chicken. That's generally not my specialty, you know. And I think you wanted me to fix the roof or something."

She cursed inwardly. Did she actually talk in her sleep?

"Oh it was nothing..." She smiled coyly. "Just some ridiculous nonsense..."

"Tell me." He propped himself up on an elbow, looking at her. "I like hearing about dreams. Even ridiculous ones."

"You do?"

"You learn new things about me every day, don't you?" He chucked her lightly under the chin. "Come on, I want to hear this. Sounds funny."

"Well all right..." She hoped he wouldn't take offense. "It was funny but -- in a way -- it was almost ... blasphemous."

Ares cocked an eyebrow. "Blasphemous?"

"In my dream, you -- you were mortal."

He seemed to take that in stride. "Go on."

"And we were on my grandparents' old farm outside Amphipolis..."

"You and me?"

"And some blonde girl... I don't even know where that came from, she didn't look like anyone I'd ever met."

"You and me and a blonde, on a farm together? That does sound like fun."

"Oh it wasn't that kind of thing." She winked at him. "And then we found a dog, a funny-looking little mutt with one blue eye and one grey... Anyway, the roof was leaking and..." -- she laughed almost girlishly -- "I asked you to fix it... and then you were supposed to kill a chicken for dinner and you were chasing chickens around with your sword and the dog was chasing after you..." She decided to skip the part where he had tripped and fallen flat on his face in the chicken pen; so far he was being good-humored, but that might be too undignified.

"Fascinating. So what were we doing on your grandparents' farm?"

Could that part get him angry, too? "Uh... I don't remember. You know how it is with dreams -- “

"Oh, I think you do." He was smiling but there was just a hint of danger in his eyes. "Go on."

Xena scrunched her eyebrows, as if straining to remember. "Oh yes -- it's coming back to me now ... well, this is really funny ... some warlords who had old scores to settle with you had found out that you were mortal and they were trying to kill you... and that blonde girl and I decided to hide you on the farm until we could lure them away."

"Really. Well, that was quite a dream." They lay in silence for a while as he put an arm around her and ran his fingers through her curls; she wondered what he was thinking. Then he asked, "Would you do that for me?"

"Would I do what for you?"

"If I became mortal and some vengeful warlords were after me, would you protect me?"

To hear him speak of her protecting him was not just laughable but disconcerting. Still, he was obviously in one of his strange moods again, and she'd have to play along. She coaxed her voice into its most tender expression.

"Of course I would, Ares."

He stared at her intently, brushing the hair away from her face.

"Liar."

His voice was quiet but she still felt a chill as her stomach tightened. His sardonic smile did little to soothe her nerves.

"You're a military strategist, my dear. As a mortal, I wouldn't be of much use to you, would I? And suppose you needed an alliance with one of those warlords who were after me. Wouldn't you personally separate my head from my shoulders and have it delivered to him in a gift box tied up with a nice ribbon? Come on. Tell me." The chill gave way to a feverish warmth, and the Empress felt tiny beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. What answer did he want to hear? Damn him and his little mind games.

"Wouldn't you?" he repeated.

She made an effort to compose herself.

"I'm sure I'd find -- some use for you as a mortal," she purred, stroking his chest and then moving lower, feeling him stiffen instantly at her touch. Ares shuddered slightly and drew in his breath; unfortunately, it still didn't distract him from his line of questioning.

"You mean, you couldn't find anyone else who'd fuck you so good? Yeah, I'm sure you're right. But you're a warrior and an empress, aren't you? You know where your priorities are. Would you put some hot action in the sack ahead of your strategic interests? So tell me again. The truth, Xena. Would you?"

"Would I what?"

His hand in her hair, he pulled her head back a little; his breath was hot on her face.

"Kill me, my dear. If it would serve your purposes. Or turn me over to the tender mercies of those warlords."

"Yes, I probably would," she said slowly. "But I would say good-bye to you very nicely." She leaned forward and kissed him, draping a leg over his hip, guiding him inside. He looked at her, his eyes misty with desire but still inscrutable, and then rolled her over, biting her lips hard enough to draw blood and ramming into her so brutally that, for once, she cried out with pain rather than pleasure.

He lay stretched out on his bed, fully dressed now. Dammit, at least a part of him should have been proud of her answer; she was no sentimentalist, just as she'd said. And yet ... the ice in her stare when she told him she'd kill him if she had to -- and of course it was true, she might as well have left out the "probably" ... In a fit of morbid self-torture, Ares imagined himself on his knees, hands bound behind his back, trying desperately to get one more glimpse of his beloved's face before the blade came down on his neck, and seeing that look in her eyes.

He thought of how he had felt when Xena, the other -- the real Xena, had offered him her help, rejecting his plea that they fight the warlords together, telling him that he would forever be a hunted man unless he let her hide him and help him assume a new identity. He vividly remembered the hot flash of humiliation, and then the tiny feeling that spread inside him like the warmth of a fine wine ... one of those new feelings he still wasn't entirely sure how to handle ... the knowledge that she cared enough to, to -- all right, then -- to protect him.

Well, at least she'd fallen for that talking-in-her-sleep line and told him about the dream -- so now he knew that the dream trick worked and he could, in fact, make her have visions of her other life. Maybe this meant that somewhere, hidden deep inside the Empress, his Xena still existed.

The Empress slipped out of bed, glancing back at her husband, listening to his soft breath to make sure he was asleep. She picked up a stole, wrapped it around her shoulders and walked out on the balcony, the coolness of the floor on her bare feet bringing her back to reality. The night breeze might help her gather her thoughts.

She didn't know what was going on anymore. First there was this weirdness with Ares, wanting all of a sudden to act like her boyfriend rather than her god (she felt certain, although she'd never ask, that she was the only woman he'd had in the past five weeks or so), going all clingy and moody on her, and paying little attention to important matters like the Egyptian campaign ... he'd blown it at Naukratis, letting Cleopatra's forces carry the day, and then given her some bullshit story about being called away on urgent business. Of course, Caesar was getting to be a problem too; he'd never objected to her affair with Ares before, knowing how advantageous it was -- but he didn't like having it flaunted and he didn't like having his wife away from the marital bed every other night, and often too tired for anything but sleep when she was there. She couldn't say she blamed him for being cranky.

And now there were those dreams, more vivid and lifelike than any she'd ever had. There was that awful one in which she was a pirate, back when she and her men had captured Caesar for ransom and he had won her over and gotten her to take him to Rome -- only in the dream, he betrayed her, and mocked her cruelly as she was being crucified on a beach ... mercifully, she'd jerked awake just as her legs were about to be broken on his orders and her body tensed in anticipation of the pain. It occurred to her that it actually could have happened that way -- she had trusted Caesar so completely, had made herself such easy prey ... she shivered and knew that it wasn't from the breeze.

That nightmare, at least, could be explained as a reflection of her hidden mistrust of her husband; but what about the rest? She'd had yet another dream in which Ares was mortal, and had been driven mad by the Furies -- they got into a vicious fistfight, and when it was over and he had recovered she stroked his bruised face and kissed him; she could still remember how tender she felt, how her heart ached for him because ... well, that's when it got really bizarre ... she knew he had given up his godhood for her, and he told her that mortality might be worthwhile if he could have her love -- and a part of her yearned to melt into his arms but she had to tell herself he would be bad for her.

It got worse. In the other dreams, she had a child, a baby girl whose birth -- she shuddered at the sacrilege -- was supposed to herald the end of the Olympian gods. She was on the run from gods and priests and killers, and the blonde girl from the farm was there again (now she had a name, Gabrielle), and Ares was after her, telling her he would protect her and her child and willingly become mortal if they could only be together; but she didn't trust a word he said, not even after he had her baby's life in his hands and chose to save it.

And then tonight... she shook her head, as if trying to get rid of those appalling visions, and rubbed her face. She really needed sleep, she was supposed to meet with the ambassadors from Ch'in in the morning -- but how could she possibly go back to sleep after this?

... Her daughter was all grown, which was absurd because she and Gabrielle hadn't aged a bit, and somehow ... even to think this was blasphemy ... she, Xena, had the power to -- kill gods as long as her daughter lived. The gods were still after them, and she'd already killed several; then Gabrielle and Eve, her daughter, were badly hurt, and she'd somehow persuaded the goddess Venus, or Aphrodite rather, to take them to Olympus so she could get Athena to heal them. Ares stood in her way and she shot him in the leg with a crossbow... then she and Athena battled fiercely as Olympus trembled, and the two wounded women lay near death on the floor ... her sword slid harmlessly through Athena's smooth flesh and the goddess taunted her about losing her god-slaying powers, and she knew her daughter was dead. She still fought, until she was on her knees with Athena's sword over her, and in desperation she thrust her blade forward once more -- and saw the crimson blood and the goddess's face contorted in shock and pain. And it was Ares who'd saved her, healing her daughter and her friend without Athena's blessing at the cost of his own immortality. She heard Athena's dying gasp, "Why?" and Ares' voice, sad and gentle, "I'm sorry, but I have a thing for her."

She rushed to embrace Eve and Gabrielle and then remembered ... she had been wrong about Ares, he truly did love her -- she felt stunned and moved and a little guilty ... as she approached, he stood there looking at her almost fearfully, and with so many emotions whirling inside her, all she could say was, "Thank you." And yet it seemed to be enough for him -- he nodded a little and swallowed, his face and eyes almost radiant with quiet joy.

... What could it all mean? The Empress looked up at the stars, and down into the dark and silent garden below. She had a sneaking suspicion that Ares had something to do with these dreams, was trying to screw with her mind for some reason ... get her to fall in love with him, perhaps? But why? And what if it wasn't Ares, what if these dreams were omens of something terrible? A practical-minded woman, she had always been inclined to scoff at the superstitions so common among the Romans, at their obsession with signs and dreams; but now, she wasn't so sure.

She had to go and talk to the priests.

"Mom -- Dad -- Sis -- to what do I owe the pleasure?"

They stood in the War God's throne room on Olympus -- Zeus fuming, Hera's face coolly disdainful, and Athena wearing an expression of controlled fury and yet also of near-glee, as though she relished the fact that her no-good brother had lived down to her worst expectations.

"I think you know what the occasion is, Ares," said the Goddess of Wisdom. "You were warned not to mess with Xena, weren't you?"

He lifted his eyes with a "Who, me?" look of surprised innocence.

"What exactly do you mean by 'mess,' sister dear?" The mock innocent expression gave way to a deliberately lewd grin. "You seem to forget that in this wonderful World According to Caesar, Xena has been my very intimate friend for the past five years."

"And you seem to forget what Father and I told you." Athena pursed her thin lips. "We won't have you endangering the rule of the Olympians again."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that you made her have dreams about the Twilight of the Gods!" shouted Zeus, his face growing purple. "Would you care to explain why you would go and do an insane thing like that?"

Ares turned away, his cheek twitching slightly, and twiddled his dagger-shaped earring.

"Because it amused me."

Zeus exhaled noisily. "Ares. I don't know what's stopping me from hurling you into the Abyss of Tartarus right now, but -- “

He whipped around. "Yeah, really -- what's stopping you? I give up. What could it possibly be? I mean, it's not like we're family or anything."

"Ares." This time it was his mother who spoke, her eyes hard as crystals. "Shut up."

"Am I permitted to speak now? Good." The King of the Gods paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists and occasionally glancing at his wayward son. "I'm giving you one more chance. Let me spell this out for you. Stay away from that woman. Stay out of her bed. Stay out of her life. And, especially, stay out of her dreams."

Ares sat up abruptly, feeling a cold heaviness in his chest. "What are you telling me, Dad? I can't see my girlfriend? Oh, that's great coming from you." (Hera's murderous glare brought him a moment's sick satisfaction.) "Besides, I'm the patron god of the Emperor and Empress of Rome."

"Not anymore, bro." For a second, the gloating in Athena's melodious voice rose to the surface. "I'm afraid I've taken over that position."

"You -- ?"

"Ye-es," she almost sang out. "Oh, and feel free to try and see your girlfriend. She may not be very eager to see you."

They stood silently, giving him time to digest the announcement -- two female faces frozen in implacable smiles, and a male one drawn into a terrifying scowl.

"Son," Zeus finally said, his face softening slightly and a twinge of regret creeping into his voice. "Do you understand that this is your last chance?"

He looked away and said nothing.

"Well." This time the voice was his mother's, and the tone the chilliest she could muster. "I certainly hope you do."

When he made himself visible sitting on the ledge of her bedroom balcony, she turned and looked at him, unsurprised -- even though, unlike his Xena, the Empress had no ability to sense his unseen presence.

He reached out to touch her face and she flinched away. "Please leave."

"I just got here."

"Ares, it's over."

"Xena -- you don't mean that -- “

She gave him a scornful look. "Which part of 'it's over' don't you understand?"

He wanted to tell her, however uselessly, that he loved her; but the War God had never found it easy to say those words ?? and the way she had reacted the last time didn't make it any easier.

"Why did you do it, Ares?" she asked suddenly, with just a hint of softness and sadness.

"Do what?"

"All of this. Things were going so great -- we had such a wonderful time mixing business and pleasure -- and then you had to ruin everything. Minerva -- Athena said you gave me those dreams because you wanted to set me against the other gods..."

He snorted, looking down. "Is that what she said."

"And you tried to set me against my husband, too. Making me dream that he had me crucified with my legs broken ... Ares, that was a horrible thing to do!"

Ares was strongly tempted to say, "He really did, you fool," but then thought better of it.

"Xena..." he stammered. "I -- I -- I have feelings for you, dammit..." He had a vague sense that he'd spoken those very words to her before -- well, to Xena, anyway -- and then he remembered: of course, in Tartarus when she was making her getaway with her dead son, and was about to give birth to Eve.

She replied exactly as she had then -- perhaps she remembered from her dreams -- and for once, the contemptuous narrowing of her eyes was all Xena. "Are you trying to tell me that you love me?"

"Yes," he said, his voice a little choked. "I am. I do." Was she going to do it again? Challenge him to say those words? He should manage this time ... except that he'd already said those words to her that morning and --

The Empress let out a mirthless little laugh. "The God of War in love. How stupid do you think I am?"

"Stranger things have happened," he said simply.

"Like what?"

"Like Xena becoming Empress of Rome."

She sighed impatiently. "Enough of the head games, Ares."

He looked up at her. In her gauzy white nightdress, with her pale face bathed in moonlight and reflecting the unsteady light of an oil lantern, she looked almost ghostly -- and so beautiful that the thought of losing her again was tearing him apart. Why had he been such an idiot? Why couldn't he just accept whatever she could give him?

They were both silent for a minute, and Ares noticed that the sneer on Xena's face had dissolved into a look of bitter melancholy.

"The last man who said he loved me -- do you know who it was, Ares?" she said quietly. "My husband. And I suppose he does, in his own way. But if somehow getting rid of me served Caesar's political advantage, he'd do it just as readily as -- as I would have sent your head to those warlords. That's a fact. He would regret it, of course, but he'd do it. Just as he didn't feel good about my being in your bed, but he went along with it because it served his interests."

"It served your interests too, didn't it?"

"Of course it did." Her voice hardened again. "And it was great fun too. I'm not the one talking about love, Ares. I don't know what your game was, but I think you've lost."

She turned around and went inside, never looking back.

"I don't know if I did the right thing, my love. But I have found out that there is something even more important to me than the right thing."

The slender chestnut-haired actress stood in the middle of the minimally decorated circular stage, her words addressed to the audience as much as to her stage lover.

"Our love?" the actor said, taking her hands in his.

"Your life."

That was the final line of the play. As the actors took their bows, the applause was a little timid at first. The message of the Greek play, after all, was rather at odds with Roman notions of duty and honor -- the heroine risked much more than her life to save her beloved, putting him ahead of her family's and her city's survival -- and its title, The Greater Good, could even be seen as a mockery of these cherished ideals.

Then, the Empress rose in her box and began clapping enthusiastically; more and more spectators joined in until the applause became a standing ovation.

When the noise died down, the lead actress stepped forward. "And now, citizens of Rome, I have the privilege of introducing the author. The new sensation of Greece and now, for the first time in Rome -- Gabrielle, the Bard of Potedaia."

Out of the corner of her eye, the Empress noticed Caesar flinch and frown slightly, as though the name had been an unpleasant surprise. Had he had an affair with the girl? Not that she'd care much. Then another thought struck her. Gabrielle ... an unusual name, and one she'd heard somewhere before. Oh yes, of course -- the blonde girl from those awful dreams of a few months ago.

And there she was, standing on the stage -- her hair much longer and styled in fashionable curls, with a softer and less muscular frame, wearing a long, flowing gown rather than an Amazon-style short skirt and skimpy top -- but it was her, no question about it.

Could this young woman be a pawn in some new game Ares was playing? Xena somehow doubted it, and actually found that, for whatever reason, she didn't want to believe it.

The young woman pressed a hand to her heart and bowed several times, her face flushed.

The Empress motioned to one of her attendants who was holding a rose wreath; she always brought one to the theater in case she wanted to bestow a special honor on a performer or author.

"Give it to the playwright."

There were gasps in the audience when Gabrielle took the wreath. She looked troubled for a second and seemed to hesitate before finally placing it on her head in a graceful gesture. It made her look lovely, the dark red of the roses setting off the pale gold of her locks and the light blue of her dress.

Caesar, who had also risen from his seat -- out of politeness, Xena suspected -- gave her a sideways glance she couldn't quite interpret.

"Well, I see that you really enjoyed the play."

She shrugged. "Well, it was a tad sentimental ... and with a somewhat questionable moral. But I thought I'd lend some support to a former compatriot." She paused as the Emperor nodded, looking at her expectantly. "She's coming to the reception at the palace, isn't she? I'm looking forward to meeting her."

"I'm sure you will enjoy it very much, dear," Caesar said slowly; there seemed to be something in the back of his mind but she couldn't imagine what. "I'm sure you will."

"Do you think such love really exists? The kind where you would risk not only your life but ... the whole world for the person you love?"

The Empress reclined on a couch, absent-mindedly slipping slices of peach into her mouth and sipping her wine. The young playwright, who had been given the place of honor next to her hostess, blushed a little.

"I do, my lady."

"Because you want to be with that person more than anything in the world."

"Because that person is your world. Even if you may never have a chance to be with them."

"Really." Xena put a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "You know, some people would say that's just a way of putting a romantic gloss on our -- base animal instincts."

"Oh, but it doesn't even have to involve -- " Gabrielle stumbled and blushed even more.

"Sex?"

She nodded. "It's just a -- connection between two souls, so deep that you become -- the whole world to each other. It's almost as if the other person is more yourself than you are."

"Is that something you've actually experienced?"

"No, I have not, my lady." The young woman looked pensively into the distance. "And yet -- sometimes I think... I can't quite explain it... I know it's going to sound crazy, but it's almost as if it's something that happened to me in a past life."

The Empress raised her eyebrows. "A past life?"

"Some philosophers believe that we have lived many times before."

There was a brief silence between them, and then Gabrielle asked, "Have you?"

Xena turned to her with a start. "Have I what?"

The playwright's face was crimson. "I'm sorry, my lady -- I was just lost in thought and -- I don't even know what I said -- “

"No, no." The Empress looked at her intently with a little half-smile. "You wanted to ask if I've ever experienced that kind of love?" Gabrielle was staring into her goblet. "And then you thought it was a rather inappropriate question to ask of an empress."

"I'm truly sorry, my lady," the young woman muttered.

Xena chuckled. "No need. Artists are allowed a bit of license, even in the presence of emperors. It's not inappropriate, really ... just -- naive. It wouldn't do at all, you understand, for an empress to feel that way." She looked at Gabrielle again and shrugged slightly. "Let's change the subject, shall we? Tell me about your life -- this life, not a past one. I'm told you were a slave once?"

"Yes, my lady. Some five years ago, I was taken by slavers in Potedaia and brought to Athens."

"How does one go from slave to famous playwright?"

Gabrielle looked up; a sudden shadow darkened her face.

"I was b- -- I was taken into a household where -- they appreciated literature and the arts." Her voice was strained, as if she had to force every sound out of her throat. "My -- my masters, Kyrillos and Myrrhina, had wanted an educated slave to tutor their children -- but then they saw some of my writings and -- liked them... So they encouraged me to write more. And then they released me and helped launch my career."

"Lucky for you, then." Xena saw the look in the young woman's eyes. "What?"

"Not at first." Gabrielle spoke almost in a whisper.

"How so?"

"I had some -- bad experiences with my first -- masters."

Whatever it was, she obviously didn't want to talk about it. The Empress felt almost relieved when she heard her husband's voice.

"Excuse me, ladies. Is a mere male permitted to join this conversation?"

"But of course, my Emperor," she replied with a slight toss of the head.

The Empress paced around the balcony, finding little relief in the muggy air of the summer night.

Why would Gabrielle have appeared in the bizarre visions that had once haunted her dreams? Maybe Ares had put her in them for some unfathomable reason of his own. Or maybe there was more to those dreams than mere Ares-induced delusions ... a sign of some special connection between herself and the Greek playwright?

She shook her head at this inane idea. And yet there really was something special about the girl. Perhaps it was the fact that she was so unlike everyone else Xena knew, in the palace or in the army. She actually said what she thought and felt, or showed it in her face and voice; more remarkably yet, it seemed that she never said anything she didn't think or feel ... almost like a child, and yet not at all infantile. Indeed, Xena felt certain that, at her fairly young age, the playwright had been through some rough stuff.

She looked down into the garden and stopped in her tracks. In the moonlight, she could plainly see Gabrielle -- who had been invited to spend the night in the guest quarters of the palace -- sitting on a bench and looking up at the sky. The girl had not seen her, yet she quickly stepped back into the shadows.

Suddenly, Xena knew she wanted to go and speak to her. Tomorrow, everything would be back to business as usual -- the new ambassadors from Ch'in still being cagey about the trade agreement, the Egyptian campaign stalled now that Ares had thrown his support behind Cleopatra's forces (which bothered her far more than it had any right to). But tonight, she and the girl could just talk as -- two people.

A few minutes later she was down in the garden, striding toward the bench where Gabrielle still sat lost in thought.

"Hello, Gabrielle."

The girl turned around with a gasp.

"My lady..."

Xena sat down next to her.

"What are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep and ... it's so beautiful out here."

"It is, isn't it. Too bad I hardly notice that anymore." With a sigh, she looked at Gabrielle and was startled by the pained and somehow puzzled expression on the young woman's face. "What is it, Gabrielle? What's wrong?"

Gabrielle looked down at her hands.

"You can tell me. No one can hear us."

"I never thought you'd be like this," the young woman blurted out in a whisper.

Xena chuckled. "Of course. You expected the Bitch. Isn't that what they call me in the home country? The Bitch of Rome... the Butcher of Cirra..."

The playwright looked away. "I'm -- I'm not really interested in politics."

"But you know about Cirra. There was a rebellion against Rome and my troops put it down. And then they rounded up everyone over the age of sixteen and executed one out of every ten, randomly picked." In the dark, fragrant stillness, she could hear Gabrielle's agitated breathing. "So because of that, you think that I should be like the Gorgon with snakes in my hair -- and I most certainly shouldn't be able to enjoy something pure and noble like your play."

"I'm sorry, my lady." Gabrielle choked back a sob. "I should go back to my room."

"No, stay." She held out her arm with a habitual commanding gesture. "You see, Gabrielle, things aren't so simple when you have to deal with reality. If you start writing a play and you screw up a scene -- you can just go back and rewrite it. If I start a campaign and I screw up a battle -- well, it's a little more serious. Do you know what would have happened if we hadn't made an example of Cirra? More rebellions. In the end, more people would have died, not only adults but children."

Gabrielle finally mustered the courage to look at the Empress. "So you believed that you did was -- for the best?"

Xena's mouth was distorted in a bitter smirk. "The right thing, as you would have put it."

After a long pause, Gabrielle murmured, "I'd -- I'd like to believe you."

"Why? Because you like me?"

"Because I usually like to believe the best about people."

"You do?" She chuckled again. "You were taken by slavers, Gabrielle. Your first master -- " She glanced at the girl. "Did he rape you?"

Gabrielle bit her lip. "No, but he -- tried to."

"And then what happened?"

"My mistress came in and caught him and she thought I had encouraged him, and she -- did some things to me."

"What did she do?" Xena asked, a steely edge in her voice.

"She had me whipped and -- and -- she had my head shaved." The young woman's shoulders quivered a little, and she rubbed quickly at her eyes.

"And you still like to believe the best about people."

Gabrielle made no reply, and after a while it was Xena who spoke up again.

"Gabrielle, I want you to have a job at the palace."

"A job?" she echoed, her voice barely audible.

"I'd like to -- Caesar and I would like to do more to cultivate the arts and letters. Many people think we're not interested in anything except expanding the empire, but it isn't true. We want Rome to be a cultural capital the way Athens once was ... and you know as well as I do that the Golden Age of Athens has long passed. We want to build up an imperial library. We want to encourage writers, philosophers -- playwrights. We need somebody in charge of those projects, and I can't think of anyone better than you. You could still go on writing your plays ... you'd have very appreciative audiences here." She paused. "And I'd enjoy having you around."

The playwright sat twisting a fold of her gown until the fine fabric was all wrinkled. When she raised her eyes again, she looked as if she were bracing herself for a blow. "I'm sorry, my lady. You've been very generous, but -- I can't."

There was the briefest of silences and then the Empress rose brusquely to her feet, as though slamming a door shut. "Pity, but no need to apologize. I've made the offer, you've turned it down; I'll just find someone else. This is good-bye, then -- I know you're going back to Athens tomorrow afternoon, and I have a lot of business to attend to in the morning. It was -- interesting to meet you, Gabrielle of Potedaia."

She walked away briskly, her black robe and dark hair blending away into the darkness of the garden.

Xena had been wrong about one thing: somebody could hear them.

Unbelievable, he thought. They were bonding again.