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/FINGERNAIL ABUSE/HOT OIL/WET BEHIND THE EARS/DRY TONES/SOFT BRAINS WARNING
There is a nude character in one of the scenes. He’s not a principal, so I didn’t actually write anything about him, but if you’re squeamish about that sort of thing please shut down your imagination round about the first paragraph. Apart from that it’s all just fine. Once again I refrain from writing about sex. I’m a frail sort of person mentally, you see.

COMMENTS
You are most welcome to share them with me, as long as you adore me madly. No, but really. Please don't waste time with pettiness or snotty comments - karma will pay attention, but I won't. Constructive criticism will be welcomed with open arms. As will CDs, DVDs, the first series of Xena (to find out where I’m lacking as a person) and a Spanish course. Find me at: kalexy@webmail.co.za

AND FINALLY
I hope you’re having fun!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Helena spent the next day chewing her fingernails in a most ungracious manner, waiting with baited breath and nervous palpitations for the knight to leap out from a dark corner unexpectedly and scare the living royalty out of her. Crispin, however, did nothing of the sort. As she wandered from stall to stall in the market, whistling the chorus from the moustachioed tale of woe, her usual equanimity was killing the princess (who was naturally surreptitiously following her). Helena watched with thwarted frustration as the knight leisurely picked up items and examined them at random, stopping to have short conversations with merchants who had particularly interesting wares. Though the princess had vowed not to let the knight out of her sight the boredom was almost more to bear than the anticipation. Stifling a yawn she leaned around the stall she was currently hiding behind, just in time to see Crispin disappear around a corner. With a little shriek Helena skittered into the falafel merchant, who, ignorant of his furtive guest up until this moment, dropped a blob of hot oil onto his hand with a startled yelp.

“Excuse me, excuse me, that will come right off, don’t you worry.” Leaving a very sore man in her wake she tore around the corner, almost careening into a throng of bodies before she reined herself in and came to a halt.

She was standing at the edge of an open square surrounded by an avid audience. The source of their entertainment was an acting troupe performing some sort of vigorous (or semi-lewd, depending on your point of view) play at the centre of the square. Currently a very handsome young man with a mop of wild brown hair and a manic grin was having his shoes shined by a young blonde woman with her skirt pushed up over her head and her pantaloons in the air. Or at least that was what seemed to be happening from where Helena was standing. Casting a quick look over the people surrounding her (well, as much as one can when one’s viewpoint is being badly let down by one’s height), the princess attempted to find the knight in the moving crowd. Accepting that possibility as impractical after a while she turned her attention back to the actors, pushing a little closer to find a better vantage point. For anyone who loved stories as much as she did, this was a definite treat. 

The young man slapped the young woman securely on her rear, eliciting a roar from the crowd, before she sprang to her feet and gave him a very double-entendre snub. Though the princess’s hitherto unsullied mind did not have the resources to make the licentious connection, there was nothing wrong with her imagination. Letting out an amused chortle she elbowed the person standing next to her unconsciously.

“Good, aren’t they?”

Helena gave an enthusiastic nod before she realised who the voice belonged to. Folding her arms imperiously she glared at the sunny knight with all the imperiousness she could muster. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” the knight stopped to laugh at a witty comment from one of the older actors who had appeared on the scene, “you should be a little more thankful that I led you here. Now enjoy the play and stop following me like a drunken rabbit.”

For a moment it looked as if Helena was chewing on air, her jaws moving without a sound. “I was not following you. How rude!”

“Very good.” Crispin’s voice was dry. “Let’s keep it that way.” Turning around she disappeared through the crowd.

Helena was more than a little aggravated to notice the way in which people seemed to step out of the knight’s way. Scowling, she turned to the man behind her. “I was not.” Shrugging with a slightly alarmed expression on his face he stepped back a little, trying to demonstrate his intense interest in anything else but the small blonde. “Well, I wasn’t.” It was a prickly mutter. Knitting her brow Helena thought about pursuing the knight, then discarded the idea. By the time she escaped from this mass of people Crispin would be long gone. And so, with little more than a nagging doubt in the back of her head, she settled down to watch the rest of the play.

It was a very funny tale well told, and after the applause died down many people gathered around the players, wanting to congratulate and praise them. Having had the same thought, Helena studied the multitude with a sigh. Not much hope of her short frame getting through that. Tentatively she wandered around to the other side of the square, but there was not much difference. With a dejected sigh she sank down onto a trunk standing strangely, yet conveniently next to her.

“I might need that.”

The voice came from behind her. With a suppressed little squeal she jumped up and spun around, surprised to find the young actor standing behind her. Tousling his dark brown hair further with one hand he gave a crooked smile. “I need to replace some of the props.”

“Oh. Of course. I apologise.” Helena stepped away from the chest. “Your play was delightful, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He displayed an impressively white even smile and stuck out his hand. “I’m Philip, by the way. Philip Kerr.” When Helena extended her hand he shook it enthusiastically, obviously not au fait with royal treatment.

“Pleased to meet you, Philip. I’m Helena. Princess.”

“Oh.” His green eyes darted around animatedly while he thought about it. “Oh. You’re a princess? A real one? Pshaw. What am I saying? Here you are, you are most obviously real. Thought you were calling me princess there for a moment, though.”

For once not the person to babble, Helena watched him with a smile.

“I met a princess once in Aminstoat, but she looked as if she’d been trampled by a rampant cow. We performed “The courtier’s bustier” for her… or was it “The dressmaker’s décolletage”? Either way she yawned too much and laughed in the wrong places, and then she tried to stick her hand down my… But see how I’m just rambling along, why don’t you tell me all about you?”

“Well.” Helena thought about all of the activities she’d been involved in lately. “I really can’t give you a concise version - that would take a whole lot of time. Suffice to say that I am the daughter of King Gregor of Bernam, and until a few days ago I was waiting patiently in my tower for a suitable knight to rescue me from Boris. And then that blasted Crispin appeared and yanked a clump of hair out of my head.”

Philip’s mouth formed a comical “o”. “No, no, that definitely won’t suffice. You can’t start a story like that and then just abandon it. I won’t stand for it.”

Noticing the lengthening shadows Helena suddenly realised that she’d spent a lot more time at the square than she’d thought. “I have to go back, Philip. Oh, Crispin has probably been thinking up heinously evil things to do to me. Will you still be here tomorrow?”

“Aye.” He nodded. “We have our last performance in the afternoon and then we roll west out of town day after tomorrow.”

Deciding that he was bound to be terribly interesting (not to mention dashingly handsome) Helena made a quick decision. “Shall we meet here tomorrow morning? You can accompany me for a light meal at a nearby tavern and then I shall tell you my ever so sordid tale.”

His eyes darted around again as he pondered the idea. “Aye, that would be a pleasure. But…” Helena thought she heard a note of nervousness creeping into his voice, “wouldn’t this Crispin character have something to say about it?”

“Naturally.” Helena’s voice was dry. “But I have never paid much attention and I do not intend to start now.”

When they had finalised their plans for the next day and parted cheerfully, Helena returned to the Inn. She’d half expected Crispin to be waiting at the door with a reprimand for the lateness of the hour, but the knight was nowhere to be seen. Upstairs in their room a small package had been laid on Crispin’s bed, yet there the knight was also absent. Fighting the urge to tear off the paper wrapping and peek inside the package, Helena wandered back downstairs to ask Kate if she’d seen the absent knight. Before she could find the cheerful Innkeeper, however, an ebullient shriek from the courtyard attracted her attention. Sticking her head around the doorway she cursorily glanced outside, her mouth dropping open witlessly when she realised the source of the high spirits.

Crispin was sitting at one of the wooden tables, her head barely visible over the shoulders of a man who sat with his back to the peeking princess, but even at that angle Helena could see the dark woman laughing riotously at something her cohort was saying. Between the two on the tabletop stood a multitude of empty upside-down ale mugs. When the knight had regained her breath she exclaimed something in a muted voice and leaned over to grasp the man’s cheek affectionately between two fingers, causing him to let loose a melodious roar.

Incredulous at this display of exuberance, Helena let her feet carry her reflexively towards the two lively companions. They were so occupied in their mirth that Crispin only noticed the princess when she was right next to the table. Leaning back the dark knight let out a muffled giggle at Helena’s amazed expression before she slapped a hand over her mouth, smothering a series of hiccoughs. From the dip in his torso the man opposite Crispin appeared to be kicking her under the table before he jumped up and presented the most well groomed hand Helena had ever seen on a man.

“Eric De Fontenèt at your service, my lady.”

When she extended her hand he took it lightly in his, kissing her knuckles courteously. Eric’s manners matched the rest of him. Light golden hair framed a fine-featured clean-shaven face and striking blue eyes. His trim body was elegantly attired in a pair of tight black breeches and a perfectly tailored luxurious purple tunic with golden braiding which had obviously been very costly to produce. Wondering about his connection to the aggravating knight on the other side of the table, Helena slid into the bench next to him at his gracious bidding.

Arching her black eyebrows sardonically Crispin tilted her head at the young man. “Suddenly so very modest, dearest? You do know how the ladies love the title.” With a broad smile at Helena she bluntly ignored his petulant look. “Helena, this is Prince Eric De Fontenèt himself, at your royal service.” The man in question leaned back a little and slid down his seat, obviously connecting his kick this time as Crispin yelped sharply and shifted away before she continued, apparently rather unperturbed. “I’m afraid I’m feeling rather common now, between the pair of you.”

Before Helena could return with a suitable retort Eric leaned over and grasped Crispin’s hand in a theatrically tender way, his tone fond. “You, my love, could never be common. Your sense of style, perchance. Your vocabulary, most definitely. Your footwear, without a doubt. But you yourself will always remain completely exquisite.” He landed a smacking kiss just above her knuckles, chuckling deep in his throat when she knocked him lightly under the chin with the back of her fingers before pulling her hand away.

Helena, feeling rather left out by their noticeably familiar banter, almost didn’t realise it when Crispin directed the conversation back at her. “Pardon?”

“Eric and I are old friends. We met just after he abdicated his throne to his younger brother and went on a quest to find his … true calling.”

“Some lovely adventures we had, I recall,” Eric interjected with an affectionate smile.

“And some truly heinous ones,” Crispin finished. Pursing her lips she studied the two royals side by side. “Such a lovely pair you make. I’m wagering that by now princess Helena is heartily wishing prince Eric had rescued her from the tower rather than I.”

“It’s never too late.” Helena shot the knight a cool glare. “I would abscond from your hands with the prince the very moment he expressed the wish.”

The blonde man gave the princess a kindly pat on her hand. “Ah, as exceptionally charming as you are, my dear, I have abandoned the royalty game for good. And also there is but one woman for me.”

“Who?” It was a puzzled question.

“That woman sitting right there.” He pointed at Crispin, who batted away his hand nonchalantly before she stuck out her tongue and made a rude noise (much to Helena’s chagrin). “She is a vision of loveliness – though maybe not right at the moment – and I do simply adore her with every fibre of my being.”

Crispin spread a slightly unsteady hand on her chest roughly where she imagined her heart to be. “And of course you are as ever the only man for me, Eric.”

“Oh, my darling.” Wiping away an imaginary tear he rolled his eyes in mock worship before he turned to Helena. “And so - regretfully, my lady - I cannot take you off Crispin’s hands. Though from what I have heard of their competence I would suggest that you take advantage of your position and let …”

“Eric!” Leaning over the table Crispin smacked him soundly on the shoulder.

Helena (who had not comprehended their conversation at any rate and was getting rather annoyed at being neglected) decided to take the dialogue into her hands and into a new, distinctly more sensible direction. “I met a rather nice man today.”

“Pshaw.” Crispin poked her empty ale mug crossly. “It’s only Eric.”

“Hey! How come I suddenly get relegated to the name behind ‘only’? I’ll have you know that I’m a paradigm… paragon of something or the other.” With a desultory pout he lifted an eyebrow at one of the serving girls, imparting as if by magic the need for another round.

“No, not Eric – he was a player with the…” Helena began, but the more evil half of the terrible twosome interrupted her without noticing.

“A paragon of craftiness, your highly wileness. Wily highness, I mean.”

With a small scowl Helena looked first at the empty mugs, and then at Crispin’s face with new awareness. “Are you … intoxicated?”

The knight chortled at her scandalized tone. Puffing up his chest Eric nodded fiercely. “Indeed she is, by my utter masculinity.”

Sniggering so profusely that she succumbed to an irrepressible fit of coughing, Crispin managed finally to regain control of herself. “If that were the case then I could just as well commit myself to a vow of sobriety here and now, my darling Eric.”

“Harpy.”

“Troll.”

Bursting into gales of mirth they left a speechless Helena staring from one party to the next. Rarely had the princess seen the generally poised knight so abandoned, and for a moment the strange and inappropriate thought struck Helena that sitting there on the bench with her bright blue eyes sparkling and her black hair tumbling about her shoulders, Crispin really was almost as exquisite as the prince had claimed her to be. With an impatient shake of her blonde head she discarded the odd thought and stood. “Well. As much as I have taken pleasure from meeting you, my lord…”

“Eric, if you please.”

“Eric. I have matters to attend to, but I am quite sure we shall meet again.” Dipping her knee graciously at his courteous bow she turned to study the madly grinning knight. “Goodnight, Crispin. I hope that when I see you next you will be a tad more collected.”

Solemnly the knight rose and inclined her head. “Good night, Helena. I would kiss your hand … but I hesitate to trust my teeth so near you.” Presenting all of the said teeth in a beaming smile she waited agreeably for the piqued princess to storm back into the Inn before she plonked down opposite a silently giggling Eric.

“I say. Feisty little creature.”

The next morning when Helena awoke Crispin was spread across her own pallet in a tangled heap of limbs and a disarray of clothing. Stepping around a bare bronzed leg that hung precariously off the edge the princess dressed and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. No doubt the knight had only returned to the room in the early hours of the morning, and would be asleep for some time to come. And after her unruly behaviour the previous evening the princess had no desire to inform Crispin as to her whereabouts. Sniffing imperiously in the direction of the door she walked out of the Inn to her meeting with Philip.

She spied him the moment she stepped around the corner. Dashingly attired in a flamboyant tunic he seemed to be in serious and intense conversation with a shabbily dressed older man, occasionally nodding or sketching gestures in the air. When he caught her eye he said something to his companion, who turned his head and scrutinized her quickly, giving her a clear view of his eye patch before he walked away. Presenting her with the broad white smile that she remembered from the previous day Philip waited until she was close before he extended his hands and clasped hers between them.

“How pleased I am to see you!”

Helena returned his pleasant beam. “And I you, Philip. But who was that you were quarrelling with earlier?”

His smile faltered for a moment before he shook his head emphatically. “No, no. We were merely … disagreeing. Claude would have preferred that I perform some tasks for the troupe this morning.”

“Oh.” The princess frowned worriedly. “If you would rather…”

“Definitely not. I would rather spend my morning in the presence of a beautiful woman.” Grinning slightly at her blush he continued. “Besides, he could send anyone. Anyone at all. Now, have you decided on an establishment for our light meal?”

They chose a tavern with a pleasant front and strolled inside, choosing a table where they could watch the passing amblers at their leisure. Ordering simple dishes from a friendly barmaid they soon fell into a comfortable and pleasant discussion. Though Philip had seemed rather flighty at their first meeting he turned out to be a charming companion with an engaging manner. In telling the story of her adventure with Crispin again, Helena found herself playing down the more comic aspects and appealing to Philip’s sympathy, which he contributed accordingly.

“This Crispin seems a positively horrid type of person.”

“Well…” for no good reason the princess suddenly found herself loathe to be too derogatory, “not horrid. Perhaps a tad insensitive to my circumstances.”

“If I met this fellow I would knock him senseless for treating a lady in such a way.”

It was a moment before Helena realised the misconception that the actor was labouring under. Pondering quickly she rationalised that if he knew Crispin to be a woman, he would most likely be inclined to be less compassionate. And he was never likely to meet the knight, was he? What harm would it do to have a concerned friend of her own? Poking out her tongue mentally at the insufferable dark woman Helena shot a sweet smile across the table to her new friend. “As much as I would like to see that happen I will most likely return to my father’s castle for Crispin to claim a reward. And then…” she sighed, sincere this time, “I will almost certainly be betrothed to Sir Gunther Totherington or another such foul doddering old lord.”

“But that is atrocious!” Philip was outraged. “How can a knight deliver you to such a fate?”

“It’s what knights do. I would have had to wed Crispin, had it been possible.”

“What makes it impossible?” He continued before Helena could find a suitable answer. “His inhospitable disposition, I’d wager. Yet it is a blessing in a way. Could you even envisage spending the rest of your life with Crispin?”

“We would murder one another soon enough.” Her tone was dry. “But let’s talk about something else, Philip.”

“Oh, do pardon me. Here I am indulging in the subject when you must desire nothing more than to escape from your circumstances for a time.” And with just the appropriate amount of sensitivity he turned the discussion to plays and poetry.

The morning went by quickly, and when it came to noon he regrettably had to excuse himself. “It is time for me to go and prepare for the afternoon play now, but I should like it very much if you came to watch the show.”

“I would be delighted,” Helena assured him with a smile. When he had left her with a small warm grin she wandered between the stalls, browsing amongst the interesting wares. Once or twice she actually considered going back to her Inn and informing Crispin of her whereabouts, but the memory of the previous night and the knight’s shocking behaviour dissuaded her. Sticking out her tongue mentally (or so she thought, but a suddenly protruding pink tongue quite startled a passing man) at the dark-haired woman she decided to go straight to the play. And so she did.

The play that afternoon was every bit as entertaining as it had been the previous day, and after it had ended she felt no need to press closer, standing instead where she was delivering applause. The players shook hands warmly, and when Philip caught her eye over the head of an enthusiastic spectator he gave a broad smile and a slight self-deprecating lift of the shoulders. She waited until the mass had dispersed before she approached Philip, who was once again stuffing props back into the large trunk.

“That was charming, again.”

Wrinkling his nose he shook his head. “The writing is rather formulaic, you know. I would rather have been in a troupe that performs the works of that great dramatic playwright Artoïs, though this certainly outclasses being a blacksmith.”

“Is that what your father is?” She watched curiously as he threw a cloak into the trunk with a slightly venomous air.

“No.” His speech was clipped, and after a deep breath he seemed to regain his composure. “I apologise. I am not on a good foot with him. He is in the same profession as I.”

“Oh.” The princess pondered the thought of leaving the subject be, but subtlety had never been a strong point. “Is he in this same troupe?”

“No. He is not in this troupe.” Philip slammed the trunk shut, resting his hands on it for a moment before he turned to her, all signs of sullenness carefully wiped from his face. “When will I see you again, Helena?”

“Would you like to see me again?” The thought was out before she could halt it, and Philip turned it around in his mind a few times, his eyes darting in the familiar manner before they came to rest on her face.

Taking her hand gently in his he pursed his lips. “I would. I do not imagine that anyone should treat you as a possession. This Crispin fellow definitely does not have your best interests at heart. What is it that you want?”

Sudden images of her journey with Crispin came flooding into her mind, and as acrimonious as she sometimes felt towards the knight she could not help but suspect that she had enjoyed the adventure rather more than an authentic princess should have. Clearing her throat she withdrew her hand smoothly from his. “I… erm, I am not sure, Philip. Though Crispin is really not that appalling. Honestly.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “he surely has you under some kind of spell. Should you realise your error … you are most welcome to join the troupe for the remainder of the season. I am quite sure that we could transcribe that story of your journey into a good dramatic piece. And who better to play the princess than the princess?”

As foreign as the idea was Helena had a vision of herself singing on the stages of the great theatres, roses streaming down at her feet, before she composed herself. “Thank you, Philip, if I am persuaded otherwise I shall take you up on that offer.” It was said more as a conclusion to the conversation, but the young actor seemed satisfied.

“Then, if you wish to come with me meet us here tomorrow morning at sunrise. If I do not see you again, Helena, it was a joy to meet you, and I wish you only the best.” Kissing her hand gallantly, though a little less elegantly than the prince had, he turned away. “And now I must go.”

The square was clear, and the sun setting, when Helena finally returned to the Inn. Thoughts of herself on stage had plagued her incessantly. She did love singing, and stories. Perfect makings of a player. And if Crispin returned her to her father she would surely have to succumb to the proceedings she had explained to Philip. Old Sir Gunther Totherington. Envisaging his florid fleshy lips and the curlicue of hair on his forehead that was meant to distract from the complete baldness of his skull she gave a small shudder. She would do anything in her power to avoid that outcome, most definitely. Yet… running off with the troupe would mean abandoning Crispin.

What are you thinking? she chided herself. Half of the time you can’t abide that woman.

Except when she’s being overly patient and her cheeks practically evaporate into her face with the effort. Or when she really enjoys something and laughs right from her stomach. And except for the fact that she’s hauled you out of that isolated tower and showed you places you never knew existed.

Well. A few more days won’t do any harm.

CHAPTER EIGHT...