It was quiet and warm on the mainland, dusty among the aging and neglected olive trees. Gabrielle turned back to look at the southern road and the harvested field beyond it where skinny boys were grazing the village Isos’ sheep. She stretched out to peer as far south as she could, but finally gave it up and hurried to catch up with Xena, who was leading her horse around the fallen trunk that still blocked the path. Someone had been hacking at it again, but they still had a long way to go. “I can’t see Telemachus on the road, they must really be moving,” she said.
“He wants to make Pylos in three days, he’ll have to hurry,” Xena replied.
“Well, I just hope King Nestor will do something to help.”
“Maybe. If appearances count, old Nestor will be impressed enough to aid him. He looks downright heroic. Queen Penelope’s proud of him. But she isn’t counting on anyone’s help.”
“I know. Poor lady, you’d think that—well, at least you left her better protected than she was. Better fed, too.”
“Hard to make overnight fighting men out of sailors and swineherds. They’ll manage against any ordinary threat. And Lemnos swore to me he’d keep doing what he could to teach them.”
“When he’s not making funny little bits of food. Who’d have thought Queen Penelope would like that? I mean—raw fish? In fancy little—”
“Yeah. I know.” Xena smiled at her friend, then turned her attention to the trail once more. “Anyway, Draco’s men will spread the word of what happened out there; it’ll be a while before any of that kind are fool enough to test their own fortune.”
“Well, I hope so. You know, Telemachus is really good with a sword, isn’t he?”
“He’s quick; he should be good by the time he’s grown.”
Gabrielle sighed. “I hope his father gets to—well, you know.”
“I know. There’s a chance.”
“And Penelope—but maybe her luck changed with this.”
“It could have been worse,” Xena said. They came out of the woods, into the open, skirted the midwife’s shrine, and headed for the well.
“Worse—than Draco?”
“Sure. She’s a queen, a whole kingdom to herself, the rumor of great wealth. Some nobleman might’ve shown up with his whole entourage, eaten her out of house and home.”
“Or more than one nobleman—I’ve heard stories like that.” Gabrielle splashed water on her face, then shook her head to scatter the drops. “Oh, that feels wonderful. I’m hot already, and it’s gonna be a long afternoon. Sure—Penelope would be obligated to offer hospitality, and once you do that, especially if you’re royal or noble, you can’t get rid of the guest until he wants to go.”
“I’d wager Odysseus wouldn’t let that bother him.”
“No—but Penelope.” Gabrielle sighed and splashed her face again before they turned away to cross the meadow. “She’s such a nice person. Still, if someone tried to marry her, she’d never give in to that.”
“She might not have a choice,” Xena reminded her.
“Oh—sure she would. Remember the story I told her? About weaving all day and picking it out all night?”
Xena laughed shortly. “That’s a story, Gabrielle. It’s a nice story, but it would never work in real life.”
“Well—maybe not.” Gabrielle was quiet all the way down the ravine, but once they reached the road again, she clapped her hands together and said, “Well! So, what’s next?”
“I should send a message to King Menelaus—”
“Who doesn’t deserve it.”
“No, but it might keep him and his men away from Ithaca.”
“Oh. That’s a good point,” Gabrielle said promptly. “But you can send the message from just about anywhere.”
“Yeah.” They ambled down the road in companionable silence. Late-afternoon sun cast a golden glow across the cart tracks, and a bee droned around them twice before moving slowly off into the woods. “So, was there somewhere in particular you wanted to go?”
“Sure—Athens.”
“Oh?” Xena looked at her companion across the horse’s broad back and raised an eyebrow. “Why Athens? You want to see Orion?”
“Homer, remember? No—well, yes, actually, but that’s not why. The autumn festival and the footraces, remember? I know I told you about the footraces.”
Xena laughed. “Gabrielle. You can’t go into the Olympic grounds unless you’re male or a priestess.”
“It’s not Olympics—and I really don’t understand,” Gabrielle said, “why it’s such a big deal. I mean, who hasn’t seen naked men? But no, this is in honor of Artemis, some special thing, only every other year. And before we left Athens this last time, I heard Atalanta was gonna be there for the next races!”
Xena’s mouth quirked sourly; Gabrielle, intent on her story, didn’t notice. “Oh. How wonderful.”
“Yeah! It’s gonna be great! She can outrun just about anybody, and she’s just this wonderful virgin-hero type—well, you know,” she added confusedly but her eyes were shining.
Atalanta. I haven’t seen her in over a year, Xena thought grimly. The last meeting hadn’t been pleasant. But Gabrielle was so excited over the prospect. It might have been my fault as much as Atalanta’s that we parted on less than amicable terms. “All right, Gabrielle. We’ll go to Athens, see the races. I figure after that sea voyage out to Ithaca, I owe you at least that much.”
“Oh—oh, boy!” Gabrielle tipped her head back and shouted; her voice echoed from the distant treetops. “Great golden apples, this is gonna be absolutely terrific!”