by: de Bonheur
2/13 of the LONG IS THE WAY series
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index.html for complete disclaimers and notices.
Author's Note: This work contains fictionalization and/or out-of-context
use of literary classics and historical characters. Setting: The month
of Eaphebolion, in the 5th-4th Century B.C. Inspired by: Aristophanes'
FROGS and Moliere (one of my gods); Selected Bibliography:
Translated writings of Aeschylus, Apollodorus, Aristophanes, Euripides, Hesiod,
Plutarch, and Thucydides. Descriptions of Alcibiades borrowed from Plutarch's
The Rise and Fall of Athens: Nine Greek Lives; the various gods, The
Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
PROLOGUE
The quarter moon was covered by thick grey clouds, reflecting shifting moods
of the sky. In the shadows, Moros, Son of the Night, invisible and dark like
his mother, prepared his decrees. His dominion, inescapable, over all.
An owl uttered its haunting, melancholy cry, spreading sharp wings over scurrying
creatures.
The biting pre-dawn breeze shook the surrounding trees, casting shadows over
flitting shapes, allowing glints of golden pupils and lighted sparks in
flight.
The lone rider on the palomino focused on the fleeting surrounding. Occasionally,
she looked back behind her, as if to make sure she wasn't followed, but half
expecting to be.
How long has it been? The warrior asked herself. Fifteen years?
She had thought or even hoped that he wouldn't live that long. She feared
his disappointment, or worse, scorn, toward the Warlord. But when words of
his death came, she cursed almost every deity on Mount Olympus.
Few moons ago, she came upon rumours that Hades had released him, on Dionysus'
account. She was skeptical... until a messenger found her and delivered the
scroll.
"Come at once. I need you." The letter had said, in the handwriting she knew
so well, without the usual elegant flourishes accustomed to by the world.
Guess he still believes in me to send for me. The warrior thought.
I used to think he would live until the end of time... When did I stop
believing that? When did I start knowing even the gods die? She knew
when.
When did I stop looking forward to my own death? When did I start being
afraid of it? She knew the answer to that, too.
She shook her head to let free her thoughts. And looking back one last time,
she raced on.
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
A violet chariot drawn by two magnificent winged-horses emerged from blue
Aegean. Eos rode into the sky, in her saffron tunic, young and lovely. Snowy
eyelids, rosy-fingers, she was made to awaken desire.
Softly, the delicate hand tilted, felling the morning dew from her urn. The
goddess brought forth the first glimmer of day.
Rabbits blinked their sleepy eyes, burrowed out their den in pairs. Squirrels
chased the clement air playfully along tree limps, now and then dropping
nutbits on unsuspecting life below. Birds, their feathers harmonizing the
blossoms stretching to greet the dawn, exalted Spring in their vibrant
song.
A similar scene would inspire a beautiful Prelude, heralding the morn, from
a composer centuries later and seas apart. But this one was completely lost
on one bard pounding furiously down the road.
It was almost a moon since their stay with the Amazons. The warrior and the
bard continued their wanderings, helping people and villages a long the
way.
Gabrielle didn't think it was ever possible between two people, but they
seemed to have become closer still. It could have beenthe Amazon
ambush... The bard smiled at the memory of the tryst she had in a whim
arranged, and induced Solari and Eponin to help with. The looks had become
softer, the touches in public more spontaneous and affectionate...
The warrior had promised revenge, and had the bard on her toes for many days.
One evening Xena went to her with a mysterious smile and a wicked glint.
Gabrielle almost bolted out of sheer nervousness. For all the delicious torture
that had went through her creative mind, she could not have anticipated what
followed.
The bard squealed in excitement. At the time, she wasn't sure what delighted
her more: that she got to attend the biggest and most important festival
of the year and see all the great bards perform; that the Warrior of Solitude
had finally agreed to go; or that she had asked if Gabrielle wanted to be
there and if she could accompany Gabrielle.
For the next few days, a deliriously happy bard she was; and she was sure
all in the known world had cause to envy her. Then it suddenly changed two
nights ago, when the warrior came back from scouting the perimeters. Xena
reverted to her Monosyllabic Self.
Then the night before, the Warrior Princess informed Gabrielle that she needed
to go ahead on Argo and that the bard should follow behind. "I'll try to
find you there; otherwise, I'll see you at Hippocrates when it's all over."
The warrior had said, refusing to provide more.
"WHAT WENT WRONG!" The bard growled in frustration. She continued to track
the hoof marks heading toward Athens, jamming the butt of her staff to echo
each step.
. . . . . . .
ACT I
Scene 1
The second day of City Dionysia was drawing to a close. The comedy presented
by Aristophanes, based on Dionysus' trip to the underworld, was a spectacular
success. The actors and choruses joined in the festival procession. Boisterous
party-goers carried their noises and rowdiness from the hillside on the Acropolis
to the streets below.
The people on the streets brought out torches and musical instruments. Weaving
around food hawkers vending exotic delicacies, singing, dancing and drinking
with such gleeful abandonment, they were as if possessed by the god of wine
and fertility himself.
Some of the citizens chose to stay in, or perhaps they simply needed a little
break from the festivities. At the back of a busy tavern on a crowded street
[nothing special here, there must be hundreds similarly situated in Athens,
except:-] two people were rapt in conversation. They even looked sober.
The man was beyond doubt the most potently beautiful sample of his species.
His lightly-oiled muscled arms and thighs were testaments to his prowess
as a wrestler. Short curly hair framed his dazzling eyes which needed no
kohl to enhance. The magnificent robe in silk trimmed with golden threads
barely covered the proof of his virility, when with legs crossed he leaned
back to accept morsels of delight and sips of wine from his personal slave.
On his side loyally rest a dog exceptionally large and handsome. The stub
which was once its tail made it look even more distinguished, if a dog could
be considered such. He had simply laughed when his friend scolded him for
the cruelty he inflicted on the creature. He'd rather Athens chatter about
him cutting the tail than anything worse.
The man has such extraordinary grace and charm that the citizens thought
even his lisp suited his voice well and made his speech persuasive. His beauty
and wealth, combined with arrogance and savagery made him the object of desire
and worship of many men and women in Greece, allying their power with his.
At the moment, the statesman captured the hand of his companion,and softly
placed a kiss on the palm. His gesture was rewarded by a brilliant smile.
His glance flicked over and lingered on the leather-covered body. His mouth
was closed, but the expression on his face seemed close to bliss. A child
could recognise the look. She didn't seem offended, merely amused.
Meanwhile, the door to the busy tavern opened. A weary traveller walked in,
paused for a moment to scan the surrounding and take in the sight before,
then turned around and walked out again. Everyone there was too occupied
to notice the brief intrusion.
"So, are you going to attend Agamemnon tomorwow, Xena?"
"I don't know yet. Probably. Tell me, what do you think of Euripides?"
"Ugh! Did you hear what he said of me? 'Slow to help Athens, swift to harm
it, ingenious for himself, feckless for the state'?
I am so glad Dionysus chose Aeschylus over him to bwing back fwom Hades.
Athens does not need any more poets who can only churn out pwologues you
could fix 'lost his oilcan' to."
"And Aeschylus? What did you think of him?"
"Aeschylus? What is this sudden intewest on playwwights, Xena? All right,
all right, I love the old man. How could I not? He thinks I am a lion whose
way must be yielded to; and he is so right, you know?...
Tsk, tsk! Xena, that smirk becomes you but only when it is diwected at somebody
else!
Why, who did you think bankwolled the performance of the oldguy's twilogy?
He thinks war is a blessing fwom Athena. Orwestes, the hewo, an Argive, sought
the glorwy of Athenian expansion by an Athenian-Argive alliance. Tell me
if I'm wwong, but this has to be the ultimate political statement!
Anyway, enough talk about borwing old men. Let us talk about your beauty."
He said suggestively.
The Warrior Princess' nostrils flared, and guffawed heartily. "Come, Alcibiades,
let's talk about YOUR beauty!"
The two people in the corner drank and laughed and chatted merrily into the
night.
. . . . . . .
ACT I
Scene 2
Gabrielle flung herself from the street into the stable behind the
inn. It was by providence she made it there at all.
She had recognised the look. Had seen it many times before - the almost-greed,
definitely-hunger she has in her own eyes everytime she looked at her Warrior
Princess.
She didn't really care that he was looking, she honestly couldn't really
blame him. But why didn't she rebuff his advances? And her smile after
that kiss... Was he the reason why Xena left in such a hurry? why she became
so withdrawn?
And the smile... It was the same smile that casted a spell over me so
many moons ago... Why is she giving it to him? Who is he? Why, why,
why!?
A soft whinny made its way into her jumbled thoughts. "Argo!" The
bard ran over and collapsed her arms around the horse's neck. It was the
closest connection she had to her warrior right then, and she clung onto
the palomino like a drowning sailor to a broken oar.
A light breeze rippled through the stable, ruffling Gabrielle's honey blonde
bangs. She lifted her face from its sanctuary, and met the passionate gaze
of a young man. Where did HE come from?
The youth had a wine cup in one hand and a bunch of grapes in another. Vine
leaves crowned his curly long hair. His body half covered by light fawn skin
was delicate. His lips, ripened with carmine, formed the shape of kiss.
Gabrielle began clutching at Argo as if it was Athena's aegis.
He spoke, his lyrical voice washed over the bard like quicksilver. "Why aren't
you out there enjoying yourself, bard? Life's made up of sensations, some
to be indulged in, some to be avoided, and you definitely should be
avoiding."
"What do you want?" Gabrielle managed shakily.
"Me? Nothing! It just annoys me when people don't enjoy themselves in my
festivals!
Here, have this, wouldn't want you to starve." He tossed the grapes to
Gabrielle.
"Oh, tell Xena Euripides didn't have the frogs. And I talked to Hades, he
is giving the old men until sundown tomorrow to find them. Charon is not
a happy camper and is threatening to go on strike."
"HAIL, HAIL, IACCHUS!" Cheers from outside drifted in.
"Look, I gotta go. Have fun! Indulge!!" The young god disappeared the same
way he came.
Gabrielle absentmindedly shoved the grapes into her mouth. So, Dionysus
and the gods in the underworld are involved in whatever Xena is mixed up
in. So, what's new!?
. . . . . . .
ACT II
Scene 1
Dawn was breaking. In a pillared courtyard, two old friends strolled
along winding patches of spring blooms and shrubberies, admiring the trail
of golden flamingos left by Eos' flight.
"I haven't found the frogs." The warrior reported wistfully.
"You talked to our host?"
"Yes, I spent much of last night with Alcibiades. He thinks your work is
not only propaganda for his political ambitions, but the award you'll win
at the festival will bring him fame and prestige. And you know how he likes
to win. [pause] There's really no reason for him to see you dead."
"And Dionysus?"
"No, I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. [pause] But he negotiated
with Hades to get you here. If he wanted to send you back, he didn't need
to steal Charon's frogs.
I even tried to track down Nicias, since he dislikes Alcibiades so much,
and he's against Athenian expansion. But the senate had sent him to Sparta..."
The warrior shook her dark head sadly.
"You know, it really doesn't matter. I've died once already, and I really
don't mind going back to Hades. Presiding over the Tragic Throne by his side
really wasn't too bad."
"There must be something we're missing... something I can do. We can't..."
[Cutting off the warrior] "You came when I sent for you. That's all
that matters to me."
Xena's lips twitched, uncontrollably; the warrior facade unable to hide her
emotions.
"I swear, Aeschylus, I will find the one who stole Charon's frogs. I won't
fail you again."
"You never did. I saw the genuine goodness in you when you were young. I
still do...
[Changing the subject] Say, did you read the play?"
"Yeah..."
"The prologue sounds familiar, doesn't it?"
The warrior nodded.
"Don't be like that, Xena, don't be. [pause] It's hard, I know. Just
take one small step at a time."
The old man turned his gaze toward the warrior, holding the silence for a
long while...
"Now, you run along! I have a play to direct, people to make cry, and a Lion
to please.
I'll see you this afternoon. And go find your Gabrielle, I want to meet
her."
The warrior wordlessly obeyed, and meandered her way to the exit of
the garden. Two ancient eyes followed her fondly; the face
flickered.
. . . . . . .
ACT II
Scene 2
It was mid-morning when Gabrielle left Hippocrates'. She had spent
half the night debating with herself about what to do with the gods' intrigue,
and the other half convincing herself that the smile (and the kiss) she saw
meant nothing.
Gabrielle hurried to the tavern. After too much time spent on patiently and
politely waiting, after too many attempts at the Warrior-Princess-Glare imitation
which failed miserably, the bard's stomping and huffing, not to mention
staff-twirling dangerously close to a shelf of exquisite ceramic cups and
dishes, finally got the nonchalant, pretending-to-be-super-busy innkeeper's
attention.
He reluctantly told her the name of the "gorgeous godsent of a man" [his
retort when Gabrielle referred to him as "the pretentious-looking guy"; hey,
she was still miffed] who was with the Warrior Princess the night before,
and where to find him.
The bard intended to dash over to Alcibiades' (So THAT'S who he is!
Her heart sank; she had heard of his many exploits, political and [most
importantly] otherwise...) when she was accosted by a gleeful long-haired
man with a mustache.
"Hey, Gabrielle!"
"Oh, hi, Molieres!"
"How's everything? Are you still travelling around with Xena?"
"Yeah. How are things at the Academy?"
"Hey, come join me, we can talk over lunch."
"I can't. I'm sort of in a hurry..."
"Nonsense! Come!"
Gabrielle started to protest, but her stomach obliged; and she was being
dragged to her old schoolmate's table.
"Are you going to the plays, Molieres? I heard Aeschylus' Oresteia is very
good."
"BAHHHH! ANYbody can write a good tragedy. To be able to write comedy and
farce, now, THAT'S something!
I don't know WHY we have to sit through three days of tragedy every year!
How are we suppose to eat, drink and make merry when those miserable fellows
try to overwhelm us with horrid images of murder, suicide and grief? That's
IMMORAL, I tell you!
..." [Now we see his hands waving excitedly to make his points, his spittle
flying, his mouth moving rapidly, followed by the comical wriggling of his
mustache. But we hear nothing...]
At any other time, the bard would have argued with him. She thought humour
and pathos are equally important, without one, you can't know the other.
But at the moment, she chose to remain silent.
Gabrielle picked at her food, eating, but not really tasting anything. Sweetmeats
and pastries were decked out in different shapes and colours in festival
traditions, enticing to most people's palate. Every time she filled her mouth,
however, she felt disappointed. It was only food, afterall.
Her heart must have gone ahead in search of the Warrior Princess...
The bard was startled when a piece of meat flopped onto her plate.
"Hey, you'll want to try one of these."
"It's interesting. What is it?"
"It's frog leg. The newest culinary fad. I brought them; this place is too
back-watered to serve any."
"Hmmm... It's not too bad."
"Anyway, as I was saying, those tragic writers are such bores. Each line
is an impromptu epigram about something!
..." [Again, we watch Molieres' hands wave excitedly to make his points,
his mouth and mustache moving rapidly. He's eating olives now, spitting the
stones into a cup; and we try to count each "pop" as the pit hit the
bottom...
At least that's what Gabrielle was doing, while she munched on frog legs.
Oh yeah, we continue to hear nothing...]
. . . . . . .
ACT II
Scene 3
Helios, in his mid-voyage, found the Warrior Princess revisiting the
pillared courtyard. She sat by a shallow pond, and watched multi-coloured
exotic fish frolic amongst the narcissus stems. The warm spring sun pleased
her skin. But what warmed and pleased her still more, was the soft body of
her bard leaning against her chest, ensconced in her embrace.
"Xena, what's going on? I saw Dionysus last night, and he had a message for
you."
"What's the message?"
"He said to tell you Euripides didn't have the frogs, Charon is mad, and
Hades is giving Aeschylus and Aristophanes until sundown today to find the
frogs."
The warrior muttered a curse.
"What's going on?"
"Basically, Aristophanes borrowed Charon's frog chorus to sing in his play.
A few days ago, before the rehearsal, someone stole them from their locked
cage. And Charon is upset. Hades told Dionysus if the frogs weren't found,
he would have to return Aeschylus as punishment. He thinks it's Dionysus'
fault since he told Aristophanes about Charon's frogs."
"Wait, Xena! Molieres and I were eating frog legs, and he said he got them
himself... You don't think...?"
"But what would his motive be?"
"Well, he did say he hated tragic dramas... Maybe he wanted to get rid of
Aeschylus..."
An idea came to the warrior...
"Wait here, Gabrielle. No arguments. I'll be back." With that, the Warrior
Princess sprinted along the winding path toward the exit.
Then she turned around, vaulted into the air, and landed in front of
Gabrielle.
"Oh, I almost forgot..." and seized a kiss from the stunned bard. She resumed
her earlier intent, leaving Gabrielle grinning goofily at the blush creeping
onto her reflection in the pond.
. . . . . . .
ACT II
Scene 4
The man crouched before the Warrior Princess. His face contorted in
fear, perspiration poured off his forehead.
"You're lying!" The warrior princess remarked incisively.
"Why would... I... well..."
"I'm losing patience here, Aristophanes. And you're running out of time."
"I really don't..." The playwright's head shook more precariously than
ever.
"The way I figured, Aristophanes, is that you hid the frogs, then claimed
that someone stole them, hoping that somehow it would make the gods mad enough
to get Aeschylus back to the underworld. Then Alcibiades would not have his
propaganda. You had argued for peace between Athens and Sparta, even in your
play." I just don't know why I didn't think of it before, she added
to herself.
The man's lips trembled. He looked as if he was going to further protest
his innocence until he met the ice blue glare of the Warrior Princess. His
head dropped.
"Now tell me where you hid Charon's frogs!" Her fingers readied to employ
harsher interrogation techniques.
"Brekekekex ko-ax ko-ax, brekekekex ko-ax ko-ax!" The frogs, upon hearing
their master's name, had chosen that particular moment to make their presence
known.
Which was just as well, since the playwright had collapsed in a dead
faint.
. . . . . . .
ACT III
Under an apricot tree, sheltered from the festivities on the streets and
in the villa over the triumphant success of Aeschylus' play, on a bench by
the narcissus pond sat the bard and her Warrior Princess, contemplating the
events of the past turbulent days.
Her head resting on her warrior's lap, Gabrielle felt the warmth of security
and serenity that touched upon the divine. She had finally decided not to
ask Xena about the night before. Alcibiades had been a gracious and charming
host, and she figured she was simply being over-sensitive.
"How come you never told me you knew THE Aeschylus?"
"It never came up before."
"What was he like then?"
"He was a soldier then."
"He was a soldier?"
"Yes, a very brave one... Do you really want to hear such ancient stories..."
The warrior lowered her head and captured enticing pink lips... Long moments
later, "Right now?"
The bard's mouth parted slightly, her chest suddenly flushed pink as a rose.
A pulse throbbed in her throat. She saw blue eyes glistened with the exact
same hungry look reflected in her own.
The warrior brushed her fingertips tenderly against the soft cheeks and bare
shoulders, gently spreading the stardust forever fall from the orbs above.
A lust to touch and reach deep into the warrior stretched from her soul.
The bard voiced her silent reply, and became lost in the scents of night
jasmine and narcissus and her Warrior Princess.
© Sept, 1997
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