“There are now two things I hate saying.”
Gabrielle confessed to the mare, who was grazing contentedly at the end
of her lead.
“She’s dead.” she leaned her head into the wall of the
wagon shed.
“It’s difficult to explain.” with this, she clunked her
head soundly against the wall. She groaned, turned around, and sat down,
taking the urn out of the saddlebag. Curling up her knees, she placed the
urn on them, then rested her chin on it. Deciding that was uncomfortable,
she turned her face to the side and rested her cheek. She’d come down
to the shed as there had been a lot of activity at the barn. Probably a
banquet, she mused. Or maybe the King finally found a wife. With that thought,
she shook her head.
“Let’s take stock of the situation here. I’ve been in
Greece for three days. During which time I’ve poisoned myself, refused
to marry a King, embarrassed the Commander in front of his troops, tried
to be a spy, and been chained to a woman who…” she sorted through
the many images that flashed in her mind “…smells really good.”
The mare stamped her foot and swished her tail at an annoying fly. Gabrielle
sat up and put the urn in her lap.
“Unfortunately, sounds about normal.” she said. “Except
for the last part.” She looked down at the urn in her lap, and idly
began tracing around the lid with her finger. She leaned back and closed
her eyes. “Xena, I have no idea what to do about that last part.”
she whispered.
The drops of rain brought her out of her trance-like state. She looked
up at the darkening clouds, blinking as the raindrops hit her eyes. The
mare’s coat had darkened with moisture. Gabrielle tucked the urn
back into the saddlebag and slung the bags over her shoulder. Taking the
mare’s lead, she clucked to her softly and hastily returned to her
to the barn.
It was raining harder when she exited, and she ran, the saddlebags flopping
her mercilessly. She grunted as she saw extra lights at the front of the
castle- she did not have the appearance to make an entrance to any sort
of event. Her feet carried her swiftly around to the servant’s entrance
and she ducked inside, shivering from the cold spring rain.
Dripping, she bent over to ease down the saddlebags, then turned her
head in the direction of laughter coming from behind the door nearest
her. It was loud, crude laugh, followed by several others.
“And did you see them two today walking about out back?” a
man’s voice asked.
“That blond miss, she’s a plucky one.” with a start,
Gabrielle recognized the servant girl’s voice.
“Grant you that I will.” piped in another female voice.
“Right then, that other one-” the girl started, but was interrupted
by the shouts and whistles of the men.
“She walks like a cat in heat, eh Wilford?”
“That’s what Gareth himself said.” Wilford laughed,
and there was a slapping sound and stomping of feet.
“It’s Gareth himself that’s in heat over that cat!”
another round of laughter and slapping filled the room.
“And the cat’s blowing kisses out the window to the plucky
one after she’s gaffed Gareth to the dirt!” peals of laughter
rang out, along with a few claps.
“He deserved it and I wish I’d done it myself!” the
servant girl shouted. Another loud ruckus ensued.
Gabrielle had heard enough, and quickly trotted past the door, pressing
the bags close to her as to not make any sound.
“Rats, cats, bastards and blowing kisses.” she grumbled. “What’s
next?”
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