DISCLAIMER
Though the characters in this tale may physically remind you of people that you
know, they are in no way affiliated with, or based upon, the characters of Xena
and Gabrielle as used in Xena: Warrior Princess. It may shock you; nay,
disgust you to know that I have watched barely three episodes of your favourite
TV series (perhaps four years ago?) and so would not be able to draw upon those
characters even if I wanted to. Not my fault, mind you, but that of the
broadcasting authorities in my country. However, I am aware of certain physical
similarities and therefore invite you to employ your own wild imagination to
make the leap.
SEX/VIOLENCE/RUDE NOISES WARNING
Lots and lots of rude noises, a few instanced of
violence (though mostly in my head, where I’m tripping David Hasselhoff
incessantly) and none at all of sex. I’m keeping with subtext, the thing where
people think about the thing but never mention or do the thing. You dig?
COMMENTS
You are most welcome to share them with me, as long as
you adore me madly. No, but really. Constructive criticism will be welcomed
with open arms. As will a short history of Gypsies in Hungary, a ticket to see
Sarah McLachlan, a big bag of dog food, and a chewy toy. Find me at: kalexy@webmail.co.za
AND FINALLY
Have a glass of red wine, it’s good for your heart.
CHAPTER
TEN
When Helena had left early that
morning with Philip he had been as attentive as ever, telling her stories of
the places he’d seen while they loaded her baggage into one of the colourfully
painted wagons. As the day went on, however, he became more pensive and quiet
until all efforts to draw him from his shell only produced a deeper scowl on
his handsome brow. Finally she resorted to conversation with the beautiful
young blonde woman sitting next to her who frequently emitted alarmingly loud
nonsensical sounds.
“Hello. I’m Helena.”
Grasping her extended hand
enthusiastically the young woman shook it. “I’m Harmony. Pleased to make your
acquaintance.”
“And I yours. Harmony – that’s
certainly an unusual name.”
“Ah.” Harmony blushed charmingly.
“Actually I used to be a Patricia, but Master Gaites – he’s our director –
feels that we must live up to the mystic something or other in the something
mind’s something of the audience … actually I think I have that wrong.
PAAAAAAH.”
Jerking at the flatly nasal honk
Helena cleared her throat nervously. “Erm, yes. Of course. Have you been with
the troupe for long?” She stayed as poised as she could, determined not to be
startled by the next inexplicable outburst.
“Well, yes, I suppose. I used to
be a milkmaid and then my father decided to match me with Clem Urhins, the
Innkeeper’s son. So I ran away and joined this troupe.”
“Didn’t you like Clem?”
“Oh, no, Clem was perfectly nice.
I was allergic to milk.” The blonde smiled sweetly. “It is rather lovely that
you have decided to join us. Now you could be the princess, or the
noblewoman, or the courtier.”
With a quick shake of her head
Helena hastened to reassure her. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it, Pa… Harmony.
I am here as a novice, in every sense of the word.”
The young woman snorted rather
gracelessly, reminding Helena for a fleeting moment of the dark knight. “You
would be doing me a favour. I’m all curtseyed out. If I saw a curtsey coming I
would kick it in the nuts, but for my bad knee. From too much curtseying,
ironically. BLUHBLUHBLUHBLUH!”
The gobbling sound paired with the
sight of Harmony’s full lips vibrating outrageously startled Helena again. With
a sharp “Yah!” she jerked her head back, only to thump it rather viciously
against the side of the wagon. The comical sight of Harmony pausing mid-BLUH
with her lips in a wobbly pout almost made the sting bearable. Almost. Rubbing
the back of her head with one hand Helena glared at the blonde with one eye
closed.
“What exactly are you doing?”
One dainty hand lifted to cover
the pouting lips. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I‘m bothering you. I did not realise. They
are tenderising exercises. For the face. To keep it mobile and expressive. For
the communicative something in the … something device, you see.”
“Oh.” It was undeniably grouchy.
Deciding to leave the irritable princess well alone Harmony pouted her lips and
drew a breath to continue, swiftly and astutely changing to a silent exercise
when she noticed Helena’s nostrils twitching. Trying to ignore the breathy
“Bwahhhhhhhh” that floated from her left Helena rubbed mutely at her throbbing
head, intermittently cursing Crispin and Philip in her mind. The brooding
player had substituted his seat in the wagon for a horse earlier, claiming the
need to stretch his legs. With the cramped conditions inside their wagon Helena
could almost believe him. With her as the novice and Harmony as a mere woman,
they had the assignation of the very last cart, crammed in between heavy trunks
and various props. Shifting slightly to assuage the pressure of a large rubber
rooster under one buttock Helena caught sight of Philip some way off, perched
gloomily on a barely conscious horse.
“He’s lovely, isn’t he?” Harmony
had paused her forcible exhalations and was admiring the handsome young man
with a suspicious flush on her cheeks.
“Not exactly as good-natured as
I’d thought him to be, I’ll admit.”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t think that.
He has an artistic soul.”
“Which means that he’s bloody
temperamental.” Reaching under her body Helena pulled out the gods be damned rooster
and flung it into a far corner where it hit the wall with a muffled squawk and
collapsed in a little heap. “How long has Philip been with this troupe,
Harmony?”
The blonde twirled a lock of hair
around one finger. “Oh, about a month. Not long at all. He is quite the dandy –
excellent swordsmanship.”
“Where was he before this?”
“I have no idea, really. He spoke
of a performance that had gone wide of the mark, something which we here could
all relate to. Other than that ... who knows?”
“Harmony, if you start with that
appalling honking again I am going to smack you with that chicken.”
The pouting blonde began to whistle innocently.