For The Good Of The Nation

Thou, though, O Roman, consider as thy task the ruling of nations,

This be thine art: to found and to foster a law that is peaceful,

Sparing the vanquished and vanquishing any who dare oppose thee.

Virgil, "Aeneid"

Xena and Livia stood together on the terrace of a nobleman's villa, its white marble a brilliant contrast to the blue sea that opened before it, and the endlessly clear sky above. A stiff breeze blew salt into Xena's face, but she had no wish to go indoors and face the nobleman's gaggle of curious guests. There was too much to think about.

The sea passage had been short and uneventful, just as Livia had predicted. The Adriatic was calm this time of year, and the transports sailing from Brundisium had deposited the first legion of Roman troops in Dyrrachium harbour without any difficulties. Now all Livia had to do was wait for the remainder of the army to be ferried across, and she had spared no effort in commanding all the available ships to this end. When Brundisium could not yield enough transports, extra ships had been brought around from the port of Tarentum, and a number of merchant vessels in port had been borrowed for the use of the army.

It was this 'borrowing' that currently occupied Xena's mind. She turned to look at her daughter. Livia had shaded her eyes with a hand, watching the sails on the horizon. She was unarmed, dressed in pale flowing robes and sandals, just as Xena herself was – here, in this house, they were simply guests. Armour belonged on the field. The other officers lodged with less prominent nobles, and the bulk of the legion contended itself with inns. Sure, it was nothing out of the ordinary – an army stationed in a city, the high command lodging with a Roman citizen... No more extraordinary than, say, taking a merchant's ship and using it to transport soldiers, without regard for how it might disrupt his trade. But of course, 'Semra' had no reason to object. Not for the first time, Xena wondered if she could have found a different role.

Livia sensed Xena's eyes on her and turned, blinking quickly to dispel the glare of the sea. "Is something wrong?"

Xena realised she had been frowning and smiled ruefully. "No."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a really bad liar?"

"Yes," Xena replied, straight-faced, "Constantly." If she only knew...

Livia laughed, briefly, before the slight frown of impatience returned to her face. She indicated the horizon – "I hate waiting. Almost as much as I hate villas. Do you like villas, Semra?"

"Can't say I'm all that familiar with them," Xena shrugged. She looked around the marble balcony, and pretended she could not recall the villas of Rome. "I prefer the tents of an army."

"You and me both." Livia leaned on the parapet, staring out to sea. "I was brought up in one, you know. A huge sprawling mansion. I imagined storming it as a child."

"You've always wanted to be a warrior?"

"Of course."

Xena felt like she was walking on shifting sand whenever their conversations drifted in this direction – always, there was the fear that Livia would snap back from the offered friendship, would close up again. Every step was tiny, rare, and so slow that Xena was starting to despair.

"Do you miss it?" she asked tentatively. "Home?"

A crooked smile changed Livia's profile. "No." She looked back at Xena from behind wind-tousled hair with birdlike curiosity. "Do you?"

Xena decided to take a risk. "Some things," she said, sifting through her memory of Amazon lands to find the things that would appeal to Livia. Livia had lived her life in what Rome called 'civilisation' – and apparently hated it. So...

"The smell of fires," Xena said, "the dances. The forest at night – it has a life of its own, and you learn to listen to it. Bird calls, the sounds of burrowing animals, the faces of the moon. How to run through dry undergrowth without making a noise. How to catch a rabbit with nothing but your hands."

She saw the change in Livia's expression – a tiny hint of envy – but in the next instant, her daughter smirked, "And how to wage war in the forests, with ambushes and traps."

"That's right." Xena hid her disappointment. "Every Amazon knows her tribe's land. I know them all."

"Excellent," Livia turned around and leaned back on her elbows, lifting her face to the sun. "I'm counting on you, Semra. You won't let me down?" The question was a little too pleasant.

"I wouldn't dream of it. Provided I know my daughter is safe before we attack."

"Naturally." Livia did not move. "You have so much potential, Amazon – but you're too sentimental. Your child is your weakness."

Xena did not hesitate. "My child is my strength."

Livia smiled slowly at the sky. "Or mine. Because you'll never fight for Rome, for all your tough talk. You're fighting for Eve."

"I won't deny it."

"Don't. I wouldn't believe you." The smile on Livia's face did not change, but it faded from her voice. "I pity you, Semra. But I envy your daughter."

Xena lost her breath and the world flashed into brightness – not tears. She cradled the fluttering hope inside her and forced herself back into her role. There was only Semra and her child. "Have you had any news of her?"

Livia closed her eyes to the sun's warmth. "Last I heard, your friend – Jana? – was still looking." She opened her eyes reluctantly and turned to Xena. "I'm sure Ares will let me know as soon as she's found."

"I ... thank you."

So Ares was keeping his word, playing along. Somehow, that was unnerving. Xena wondered if perhaps she should have talked to him during the march across Italy after all – but then, what would've been the point? He'd just keep trying to use Gabrielle as a pawn, knowing how badly Xena longed for news of her. Besides, there was nothing to say. Even if Ares had not set out to corrupt Eve, but he'd been there, for twenty-five years. He'd been there. He could have seen her grow up, if only he'd wanted to. She could not.

"He loves you, you know."

Xena jumped. Livia was grinning at her as though she had just won a particularly funny bet. Xena hoped she looked relaxed. "Who?"

Livia's grin broadened. "Don't play a fool, Semra, it doesn't suit you." She took the ends of her scarf and busied her hands with draping it over her shoulders. "Every time I mention you, Ares gets this eager look in his eyes." She flicked the scarf back; the wind snatched it up. "I make sure I've always got something to say about you. It's the most fun I've had in years."

Xena had no time to wonder what the mocking tone hid – there was a noise like crashing waves inside the house, and then a storm of shouting rising in volume, coming upstairs. Without needing to exchange a glance, she and Livia sprinted for the door to the terrace, no longer a nobleman's guests but the commanders of an army.

Someone wrenched open the door just as they got to it – Rufus, a young tribune. He saluted Livia hastily, his face flushed under a scattering of freckles.

"General," he gasped, "You must come, at once!"

Livia squeezed past him into the house, Xena followed. Inside, the airy room was full of well-dressed people, their flustered host trying in vain to propel them out of his house, waving pudgy hands.

"All right, what is going on here?"

The crowd stilled.

Xena marvelled at the transformation in Livia. The catlike game of fanning and retracting claws was gone completely, what remained was iron efficiency and the presence of a born commander. Xena wished it didn't make her feel so damn proud.

Livia nodded at Rufus in the ringing silence of the room. "Report."

Rufus gulped. "The townsfolk... There was a fight, a – brawl, I guess, with some of our men." The next words came out in a rush – "They've stabbed a centurion from the Second... Marcus Sergius."

Livia's face turned to chalk. Xena looked from the silently flinching Rufus to her daughter's frightening, emotionless features. Whatever this was about was more than just a tavern brawl.

"He's the only one hurt," Rufus added hopefully, "And we've caught them all, they didn't run far. It wasn't his fault... They were shouting things about us – you know how folk get after a drink too many."

Livia's lips moved. "Bring him in."

Someone from the back of the room spoke up. "He's downstairs, in the atrium."

Livia elbowed her way through the crowd, Xena following with Rufus, who looked thoroughly miserable. Xena caught his shoulder, "What's going on?"

He shook his head. "Gonna be blood," was all he'd say.

Livia took the stairs two at a time, the silk of her dress flying behind her. The humming crowd descended the stairs in their wake and dispersed through the giant frescoed atrium. There was a red velvet couch in the centre, the hulk of a man in Roman armour sprawled awkwardly on it.

"Everyone out," Livia ordered, turning around. She was no longer pale, but her eyes looked empty. "Rufus, fetch a physician. Semra! Open the doors to the garden, this place is stuffier than a Cornelian crypt."

Grateful for the intervention, the owner of the villa finally managed to usher his guests out of the house; Rufus slipped outside in their midst. The atrium grew silent very quickly. Xena flung open the doors to the peristyle garden, letting in flower-scented air. She turned back to where the stricken man was laid out on the couch – and knew the physician would be too late.

The man – Marcus – looked stocky and hardened, tanned in the way leather could be; he was probably in his fifties, though with the sharpened, waxy features, it was becoming hard to tell. Livia was kneeling beside him, fingernails digging into the edge of the couch.

Xena crouched at the man's feet, mentally tallying wounds. A knife – a blunt one – had gone into his side and stomach; dark, foul-smelling blood welled, but did not flow. Something else, wide and heavy, had smashed his left knee into a useless red mass, white bone shards jutting out at sickening angles. Nothing she could do. He had – an hour, two... But the dismay Xena felt was nothing compared to the restrained horror on Livia's face. Not a lover, surely?

"Li... Livilla," Marcus whispered harshly, every sound a visible effort.

Livia nodded quickly, taking his hands, rubbing them as though trying to warm him. "It's all right," she said a little awkwardly, "I've sent for a physician."

The whites of Marcus' eyes were bloodshot, the eyes losing focus, but Xena thought they must have held laughter before this. "Silly girl..." he said with a grimace that tried to be a smile, "You know I ... hate ph... physicians."

Livia made a sound partway between a laugh and a sob. Marcus shut his eyes. For a few moments there was nothing save the hiss of his laboured breathing. Then – "They say things about you, Livilla..." He winced and Livia's hands tightened on his. "Bitch of Rome," he muttered, "Br... Brutal... Ruthless..."

Livia made no response.

"Lies!" Marcus barked suddenly, so unexpectedly that both Xena and Livia flinched. "Lies..." he repeated in whisper, his yellowish face contorted with pain. He opened his eyes, and a tear spilled across his craggy cheek, following the white line of a scar. "I told them," he said urgently, "I did... But you tell them ... your... yourself..."

Only then did he seem to notice Xena. "Amazon...?"

"Semra," Livia confirmed, motioning for Xena to come closer, where he could see her easier. "My senior legate."

Life flooded back into Marcus, he tried to move, then groaned. "Another... Another Amazon... Blonde, kind eyes..."

Her heart beating in her throat, Xena said, "Yes; my friend." What could he know of Gabrielle? Had he met her while they were preparing to march from Rome?

"Tell her," he whispered, "Say, Marcus said... No hard feelings."

"I will." Xena returned Livia's blank look. "I promise."

"Good. Livilla – here..." Marcus raised a trembling hand to his forehead. Livia leaned over and kissed his head. Xena could barely make out the next words, they drifted like breaths. "No hard feelings?"

Livia shook her head, leaning against his forehead.

They remained like that for a long time: Livia leaning against Marcus, Xena kneeling beside them, knowing there was nothing she could do for either. Marcus's breaths remained shallow and harsh. Finally, Livia looked up. Her eyes widened slightly, then she scowled, "Why are you still here?"

In response, Xena saluted and turned to go, aware that she had witnessed something never meant for her eyes. She got no further than three steps; the front door swung open and Rufus returned with a frail, dark-robed man in tow.

"The physician?" he said.

Livia turned to the two of them stiffly, as though her joints had frozen solid. "Tend to him." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the couch. The physician scuttled in the direction indicated. Ignoring Xena's look, Livia turned a hard stare at Rufus. She did not raise her voice; when she spoke, it was gentle and almost kind.

"Bring me the men who did this."

* * *

They did not look like murderers. One dark-haired and muscular, in his late twenties or early thirties, with the look of a farmer about him; another who also looked like a farmer, but was taller and broader than the first, with wide-set eyes and a crop of blonde hair. Judging by his clothes and neat haircut, the third man was a local – elderly and stooped, certainly not the type Xena would imagine as the star of a drunken brawl in a cheap inn.

The men stood a little unsteadily in front of a large fountain, their hands tied behind their backs. The washerwomen who usually swarmed around it had been chased off, and the sculpted satyrs chasing water-nymphs had a desolate look, as though they wished they could turn away, but were tied to the spot by the gurgling water. Each of the accused was flanked by two Roman guards, who watched them with wary eyes. The crowd in the crossroads and the adjoining streets buzzed, appreciating the tableau, more curious than sympathetic.

From her place at the front with the other officers, Xena watched Livia approach the three prisoners, blazing red in her cloak and armour against the white-grey street. She turned her back to them.

"People of Dyrrachium!" she cried in a clear, modulated voice. The noise died down marginally as people listened. "Rome has given your city life; Rome has made your city prosperous and secure. She gave you wealth from trade and legionaries to protect it! What answer do you have for these three, who consider themselves above such things as peace and prosperity?" The crowd began to buzz again, louder now, intrigued. Livia continued. "Ingrates! They dared to speak treason against Rome – and killed a Roman centurion!"

Xena looked over her shoulder: the people were getting visibly agitated, nudging each other, looking at the three men by the fountain as something peculiar – the way, Xena realised, they looked at gladiators in the arena. Admiring, involved, and completely indifferent.

"The murder of a Roman soldier is a hideous crime," Livia cried, "It is more than the murder of a man! It is an attack on Rome herself. These men attacked Rome in your city – Rome the protector, Rome who has given you life! So I want to know, people of Dyrrachium – do they have your support?"

"No!" called out someone from the crowd, and the voice was joined by others, some frightened of the soldiers in their midst, others only thrilled that this show called for audience participation. "No!"

Livia waited for a few moments, scanning the crowd. "Then the city of Dyrrachium remains loyal to Rome?"

"Yes!" cried the crowd, enjoying itself immensely. "Long live Augustus Caesar! Long live Livia, Fortuna's champion!"

Unexpectedly, Xena recalled something Caesar had once said, in that laughing, condescending tone of his, when she had asked him, naively, how he planned to control the empire of his dreams. I'll give them bread and circuses.

"Cowards!" The thickset blonde prisoner barked the word, loud enough to snap through the air. The other two men on either side of him looked terrified, but he went on. "Cowards, all of you!" The guards glanced at Livia for orders, but her eyes were turned to the prisoner, her face expressionless. The crowd fell utterly silent, all ears straining to catch the man's words over the sound of the fountain.

"You're hailing this monster as your saviour!" he screamed, his face turning red with the effort, his blonde hair almost invisible on his pink scalp. "I say, Rome is no saviour at all, and neither is its army! Who'll protect us from Rome? Who'll protect us when the legions come and take our livelihood? No one! Remember Caesar and Pompey? Remember? Rome never changes, it can't change! It will always fights its wars on our soil, it will always be our people's heads on the stakes and our children in the graves! The legions marched through my village, took our crops and left us to starve – so that Rome the protector could eat! So the Rome the benevolent could worship its Champion!"

He lurched forward, but the guards held him back. Xena saw a coldness welling in Livia's face, setting it into the terrible beauty of anger – a look Xena knew so well that an answering pain hit her. She knew what was coming.

"So go on, oh people of Dyrrachium," screamed the prisoner mockingly, harshly, "surrender to the Bitch of Rome!"

Livia backhanded him, casually. He slumped back against his guards, dark blood trickling from his nose onto his tunic. The crowd grew very still. The man looked up at Livia from under his brows, stubborn hatred ignited into fury by the pain.

"What about the two of you?" Livia asked the other prisoners affably. "Do you agree with your friend?"

The young dark-haired man turned his face aside. The elderly man trembled, looking from one to the other of his companions. "I didn't..." he began, then tried again – "I tried to stop them!"

"Did you really?" Livia said. "I do regret your failure, then, old man. I'm sure your two friends regret it even more."

The dark-haired man looked up at that, and said – "I regret nothing."

Livia smiled. "Not yet."

To Xena's surprise, the young man's face cleared, as though he no longer had anything to lose. "No," he said, "I do regret something. I regret that your blood will never avenge the wife or mother your army murdered – and I'll never have the chance to hear you squeal like a pig under my knife, the way your old centurion squealed!"

There was a pause so silent that even the fountain seemed to have stopped. Then, Livia clicked her fingers, and a guard handed her a whip. The old prisoner cried out, and the blonde man tried to spit in Livia's direction – long red-tinged drool that hung from his mouth instead of reaching its target.

"Hold him down!" Livia commanded, and the guards grabbed handfuls of the young prisoner's dark hair and forced him to his knees, ripping back his tunic. The crowed roared – or maybe it was the blood in Xena's temples, it was becoming hard to tell the difference... Maybe there was none.

The whip came down in rhythmic cracks against the exposed flesh of the man's back, licking away shreds of skin, until his curses became shrieks and Xena could see nothing more – not the other two prisoners, not the guards, not the crowd – only the horrifying repetition of her daughter's shape – now standing upright, the whip sailing overhand – now bending, the whip coming down, dragging back... over and over and over again, and there was nothing, nothing Xena could do. She smelled blood and tasted blood – and then realised she had bit through the skin of her cheeks, and still, the flogging continued, spinning into endless horror...

Sometime much later, there was a voice that sounded like her daughter's; it said, "Enough."

Xena blinked. There was no man where there had been a man before – only meat with a face turned down, eyes rolled back into whites. She felt the ground sway under her feet; when she regained balance, she was stumbling away, through the crowd, bile and blood in her dry mouth. Far away, the same voice said: "Prepare the crosses."

As if through fog, Xena felt someone grab her arm – one of the other legates. She couldn't make herself comprehend his words, but his expression was plain. She wrenched her arm away, said something about having to relieve herself – she didn't care if he heard her, she'd shake him off if she had to – but he let go, and she was free, pushing between sweaty packed bodies, needing to breathe somewhere else, away from this.

* * *

She stopped when she reached the sea. Behind her were narrow streets, the shanties and shops of the cheapest part of Dyrrachium, abandoned this afternoon for a spectacle. A good show. People said that. Xena raised a hand to her mouth, dropped it. Looked around. The cove was nothing more than a rocky beach, surrounded by cliffs on each side. Upturned fishing boats stretched in a line of keels on the grey shale, dragged out past the darker grey tide marks. Seagulls circled over the water, screeching. The wind was stronger here than inside the city, chilling the sweat on Xena's skin and raising goosebumps. She rubbed her arms. What was she doing here?

The sea. The waves kept smashing against small rounded stones. The foaming water stank of iodine and seaweed, but those were clean smells, better by far than the stench of human suffering she had fled. A wave fell back, tugging at gravel. Xena tried not to feel the tug of the whip in Livia's hands, the splitting of the man's back underneath it.

Most of all, she tried not to feel him. Finally, she could stand it no longer.

"Ares!"

Nothing.

Xena looked over at the spot where she could sense him, between her and the sea, like a charge in the air before a storm. So he was back then. For the first time since Italy. She knew suddenly that he had been there in the street, too, that he had watched Livia take hold of the whip. Watching the flogging from the comfort of aether. He had returned for the first time since Italy – for this!

Xena drew her sword, for the welcome weight of it.

"Proud of your daughter, God of War?"

Ares flashed into view in front of her, dark against the leaden sea; the same form, the same face, the same everything, everything. He stood still for a moment, not looking at her, then raised his eyes. Xena felt a stab of needle-hot anger at the half-smirk on his face – or at herself, for expecting anything else.

"So now she's my daughter?"

He came closer as he said it, stood a pace away. "When she was your blue-eyed little doll, she was yours and Gabrielle's."

"When she makes a show of playing judge, jury and executioner, I know whose daughter she is."

Ares nodded as if to himself, "Oh, I get it. It's in her blood, right? The bloodlust, the rage, she gets that from me. So what does she get from her mother? The milk of human kindness?"

The accusation cracked across Xena's face like a whip; she scowled automatically. "I wouldn't know. I spent most of her life in deep freeze, thanks to you!"

"I mourned you! Do you understand? A god mourned for you, Xena!"

"And I should be grateful?"

Ares clenched his teeth, breathing hard. "You should be grateful it wasn't a funeral pyre."

Xena gave a harsh laugh, twirled the sword in her hand and threw it away. It landed with a short clank on the pebbles. She wanted this so badly, needed to fight now, to wound, to draw his blood, her blood. Any reason now. "You couldn't have burned my body, anyway. Not when you finally had it. You wanted to keep me."

"Sure," he said flatly, "you and your little blonde, too."

Xena tried not to let the flash of discomfort show, but knew he'd already seen it. It was true, he had buried Gabrielle beside her... But what did that change? Ares leaned back slightly, an angry challenge in his eyes. She wouldn't let him have it.

"You should've lit that pyre," she said with a short, ugly smile. "You should've let me die."

Her words did something unexpected. Anger fell from his face. Before Xena could stop him, Ares' hands were gripping her waist, and he was looking at her with – what? Fear?

"You don't mean that."

She looked back at him and said nothing.

"Xena..." Ares' voice lost its edge, became smaller somehow. "I was trying to honour..." His mouth tightened defiantly. "I couldn't accept it."

"Neither can I. And I'm not going to accept it." It was no longer about her 'death', it was about Livia again, and both of them knew it.

Xena broke away from him and picked up her sword. She saw Ares glance at it nervously, but she was in no mood for theatrics – if she was going to fall on her sword, she'd do it without him watching. She returned it to its scabbard. It struck her that she'd become careless after the long sleep. Always, she had been on her guard around Ares, constantly alert. Now, she felt too worn out to bother. There was nothing he could do that would be worse than Livia.

"I'm going back there. There are crucifixions to oversee."

She didn't wait for Ares to respond, turned around and walked back towards the city, trying to listen to the gravel crunching under her boots instead of the sound of the aether closing over him.

She missed Gabrielle.

* * *

The soldiers' hammers slammed down fast, a drum-roll without rhythm, ear-splittingly loud at the darkening roadside. When the last wedge was beaten into the trunk of the last cross, Livia nodded her satisfaction. The soldiers saluted and moved away, and Livia stepped back critically. The crowd had grown bored and dispersed; no doubt they'd be back later to gawk at the result. Livia didn't think that they'd be disappointed. The three posts were set along the Via Egnatia, the largest and best-travelled road leading from Dyrrachium southeast to Macedonia and Thrace. A much-needed reminder to the eastern provinces that Rome's gifts had to be earned.

"The prisoners are ready, General."

Livia turned to find the three men slumped beside the guards, the two conscious ones trying to support the crossbeams tied to their arms. The flogged man was held by two soldiers, all but hanging from his crossbeam, dark hair matted with blood. The blonde prisoner coughed wetly.

"Get on with it," Livia said, and scowled at the centurion in charge. "And don't break their legs – they can take their time dying."

It was done with exemplary efficiency. Prisoners hoisted up, crossbeams secured, guard posted. The sun was setting, and the crosses became black against the reddening, fire-edged sky, stretching their long shadows towards Livia. She turned away and paced back along the road, as if she could outwalk her own shadow and the strange restlessness which had taken over her body.

Odd. There had been so much rage and satisfaction in her when she'd flogged Marcus's murderer; she'd only stopped when her arm had turned numb with the effort, and she could feel the sticky spray of his blood over her face and hands. And now? Now, they were three limp carcasses strung up for the birds, and there was no calm in her, no contentment.

It had always worked before. It was an end – a dramatic, terrifying, powerful end. Caesar had been right – crucifixion was Rome, the indelible stamp of its power. These crucifixions were Rome, and they were also her, Rome's Champion. They were all she could do for Marcus. And they weren't enough.

Damn him for enlisting in her army, anyway! He was too old to campaign, someone should have told her – she'd have stopped him. Livia paused, turned to look back at the sun. Its light, now more scarlet than gold, made her eyes water. She squinted, but did not permit herself to look away. Damn him for dying.

There was a moan above her; Livia looked up. The old man. In the twilight, with his face so far above her own, he almost reminded her of Marcus... Livia shook herself – nonsense. He did not remind her of anyone. She'd spent too long brooding about this. Marcus, old fool that he'd been, had chosen his own end.

"Lady..." The man's feeble voice drifted down to her. "Have mercy...."

Livia narrowed her eyes, looking up. "What do you want, old man?"

"Death," he said – and started crying. Disgusted, Livia turned away.

The tall silhouette of an armed woman appeared over the curve of the road, approaching with the purposeful long strides Livia had come to recognise.

"Semra."

The Amazon saluted when she was near enough for the two of them to see each other. Livia noticed she avoided looking at the crosses.

"The funeral pyre is ready. They're waiting for your signal to light it."

There was an unfamiliar softness in the woman's voice; it took Livia a moment to place it: sympathy. She wanted to slap it away from that blue-eyed face; only barely managed to control her rage. How dare she! How dare she feel sorry for the Champion of Rome?

"Go to Tartarus!" she snarled – then winced at the woman's reaction: surprise, then yet more of her damned sympathy. Livia cursed herself. Making her voice businesslike, she said, "Tell them to go ahead. I have more important concerns."

Semra frowned. "Marcus's pyre—"

"I don't want to see it."

"You should. It might make this ... end."

"Amazon." There was quiet danger in Livia's voice. "You forget yourself."

Wisely, Semra backed off. "As you wish."

She saluted and marched back along the road. Livia watched her go, then snapped her fingers at the nearest guard. "You there." The man scrambled to attention, fixing his helmet which had come askew.

"Commander?"

Livia glanced up at the crosses – the prisoners with their unbroken legs. It would take days for them to die this way: reaching up for air, fighting the inevitable. Slow agony, every minute of it repaying for Marcus's last breaths. Livia looked back to the waiting guard.

"Break their legs."

Above her, the old man stopped crying.

* * *

Ares paced the deserted beach in the last of the twilight, trying to tell himself that he was waiting for Xena to return. It was no use. He'd spent too many years doing exactly that not to know that it was pointless. She was obviously intent on remaining beside the old soldier's funeral pyre until even the guards fell asleep. He didn't have any idea what she found so fascinating about it. Maybe she was thinking about the pyre he never lit for her. Maybe she wasn't regretting it.

He sighed and made himself visible, even though there were no here mortals to see him. It was a nasty habit he'd picked up in the years after Xena was gone. He thought he was rid of it after a week of visiting battlefields and the disaster with Mavican, but – here he was again. He had to admit that it actually felt good. Really good. There were distractions in the mortal world. He could taste the sea spray and hear the birds squawking and the rustle of waves. And it smelled. A beach was a beach, after all, not so different to the one where he'd found Xena's lifeless body on the sand, twenty-five years ago... Since then, he always thought mortality smelled like the sea.

He kicked at a pebble with the toe of his boot, watching a wave swallow it with a splash. It was true, about the pyre. He could not have burned her. It hadn't even crossed his mind, and whatever Xena said, he was profoundly glad it hadn't. How could it, after he'd seen Eve's body burnt to ashes? Ares flinched involuntarily, remembering the hot oily ash in his hands, the flames that couldn't touch him... He'd finally worked out Xena's scheme now, the whole insane plot to fake all their deaths. Only back then none of it had made any sense. Just grimy ash and white-hot fire around a screaming child – and dammit, he'd thought it was Eve!

His daughter.

She'd been so young, scarcely even a person, but holding her had made him feel something Ares couldn't quite understand. A longing of sorts, a vague sense that what he held was fragile and important, and that whatever those bright little eyes searched for within him, he wanted them to find it.

He realised that he wasn't looking at the beach anymore, but far beyond it. The crosses. In the moonlight, that part of the road was visible from here even to human eyes; to the eyes of the God of War, it was a little too close for comfort. Eve had done this.

Proud of your daughter, God of War?

And why not? Livia certainly had the right idea about road signs: practical warnings were always the most effective kind. She'd grow into quite an Empress, given half a chance, and the worshippers her rule would bring him would fill countless temples. Hordes, multitudes like he'd never seen! Sure, Livia did him proud.

Except... if he was so proud of Livia, why didn't he like to think of Eve doing all those things?

Without You

I broke glass like chocolate in my hand,

I sliced these fingers for not being able to touch you,

I looked into those faces and couldn't forgive

That they don't have you, and yet

They can live.

Nautilus Pompilius, "I Want To Be With You"

Xena climbed the hill to the portico of the villa. It was late, long after all the occupants – and Livia – would have gone to sleep. She didn't think she could face her daughter right now, not as Semra, and a tiny fear in Xena's heart whispered that she didn't want to face her at all. The brief hope she'd had that morning was a distant memory, but the flogging and crucifixions, and Livia's unrepentant look, were only too fresh in her mind.

Maybe it really was too late.

The doors were locked of course, and it hardly seemed worthwhile to wake the steward. Instead, Xena took a lungful of crisp night air, measured the height with a practiced eye – and made a running jump up to the balcony. Her hands slammed down hard on icy marble, she hung by her fingers a moment and groaned, scrambling for a grip. Knees came up, finding purchase between the struts that held the railing. Xena reached up, flipped over, and found herself on the terrace.

To her left, past the marble, the world dropped away into the black nothingness of the sea. Ahead and to her right, dots of firelight winked in the thinner blackness of the city. There, partially hidden by walls and buildings was a column of smoke, dense in the windless night. The old soldier's pyre, burning down. By morning, it would hold nothing but hot ashes.

Xena opened the door and went into the house. The movement had done her good. Her body was awake again, her heart beating loudly in the hushed corridor. In the confines of the house, the smell of smoke in her hair and clothes was overpowering; she'd spent too long near the fire. She began to unbuckle her armour as she walked, couldn't wait to be free of it. There was no point in wishing for a bath.

The crash of shattered pottery made her stop. It had come from up ahead.

Another noise followed it. Not a mouse or a rat; this was soft and low, a human sound. The corridor was all blue shadows, but there was a wavering line of gold light under the door which led to Livia's sleeping quarters. Xena came closer, listening. There it was again!

She rapped on the door quietly. "Livia?"

There was no answer, then the noise came again, clearer – and Xena thought she knew what it was. She rested her hand on the door. "Livia?" Decision made, Xena gave it a slight push; it opened with a long whine.

Livia did not turn immediately. The room was large and well-appointed, but ultimately just a sleeping cubicle, the same as Xena's own. There was a bed with a night-table beyond it, and lavish murals of sea gods in shades of blue and green on the walls. There were no windows, just an air vent above the bed. Livia knelt on crumpled covers, her hair loose over her nightgown, looking down at her hands. They were covered with blood.

She sobbed again.

"Livia!"

Xena forgot all her doubts, even the day's horrors were tossed aside – she rushed to her daughter's side, frantic with dread. Her wrists!

Livia's head came up; Xena thought the surprise in her eyes was at the unexpected intrusion, but then she held out her hands, streaming red, and said, "Mama?"

A pace away, Xena stopped dead. No... No, she didn't know—

"Mama..." Livia repeated, sitting up a little way, "Look."

Automatically, Xena's eyes darted to the hands held out to her – she knew what she'd find, black ragged scars that could not be closed...

But there were no scars. Xena blinked, confused; came closer. There were bluish circles under Livia's eyes, forgotten kohl smudged over skin damp with tears. Her eyes were glassy and vacant – and it suddenly made sense.

Xena looked past the bed, and sure enough, the shattered wine jug was there, terracotta shards frozen in a purple-red splash, the same colour as Livia's hands. Slowly, Xena looked back to the night table. There was a pouch, the dark green powder of crushed herbs spilling from it. She took some on a fingertip, sniffed it. It brought back sharp, sickening memories of the bacchanalia at the Imperial palace in Rome.

"Oh, Eve..."

Giddy relief turned swiftly to anger; Xena forgot all caution, dropped the role of Semra completely. She shook Livia's shoulders, staring into her face – "What in Tartarus are you doing?! I thought you'd—"

Livia was oblivious. "I broke it..." she whispered. "I didn't mean to."

The fight went out of Xena, she sank onto the edge of the bed. "It's just a jug."

"You don't understand," Livia was shaking her head, "I didn't mean to do it."

"It doesn't matter now..."

"What do you know about it?" Livia's eyes focused on Xena, their haunted depth gone. Her lip curled back over her teeth. "You're not my mother! You're a fucking Amazon!"

Xena sat still, speechless with shame. Her child. How could she have wanted to never see her again, to abandon her, even for a moment? Gabrielle never gave up on me. But who'd believe in Livia, if even she couldn't, after everything she had done? She had to tell her daughter the truth.

"I'm not..."

"No, you're not," Livia cut her off. "I don't have a mother. I don't need one." She laughed harshly and without humour, as though the wine had been nothing at all. "Do you know when I found out, Semra?"

Xena shook her head mutely.

Livia's gaze softened slightly, lost in a memory. Xena waited.

"I was six, or seven... The Emperor came to see me – it was a great honour. They made me take a bath and curled my hair. I had to curtsey and keep quiet like a good Roman girl, and call the Emperor 'Divine Caesar'. I thought it was a stupid nickname, and told him so."

Xena could not help a smile, and Livia smiled, too, absently.

"He laughed. He said I could have anything I wanted. I said I wanted a real mother – Drusilla whipped me later for my cheek. Augustus took my face in his hands and said, 'Rome is your mother.'" She looked up, and there were tears in her eyes. "He was right."

"No, no..." Xena could stand it no longer, she crushed her daughter into an embrace; Livia's cheek was wet against her own. "He was wrong, about everything."

Livia did not resist, but her body trembled slightly, whether with strain or the effect of the drugs Xena didn't know. Her hair smelled like the herbs; Xena brought one hand up to stroke it, whispering into it. "You do have a mother, and she loves you."

Xena felt Livia shaking her head, "I don't. Marcus told me; she was dead when they found me."

So that's who the soldier was! Marcus – she should have guessed! Xena held her daughter tighter, wishing she knew what to say.

"He thought I was some kind of gift from the gods... He of all people was a fool to die for it!" Livia's voice broke. "I'm nothing but a Thracian foundling. Not even a Roman."

She sat back, moving away from Xena. "Why are you here, Semra?"

It wasn't the question that surprised Xena, but Livia's tone – not defensive but puzzled. As though she really wanted to know.

"I thought..." Xena smiled slightly, through the tightness in her chest. "I thought you could use a friend."

Livia rubbed at her wine-stained hands, and Xena could not help noticing that her fingers were shaking.

"My friend is dead," Livia said finally, dully. Then – "Semra?"

"Yes?"

"It's strange. I don't think I can avenge him." Livia's hands fell into her lap, she sat back on her knees. Tentatively, almost as though voicing a foreign thought, she said, "Marcus wouldn't have liked it."

Afraid to hope, Xena said softly, "Marcus believed in you."

"He didn't. What they said about me, Amazon? That was the truth. It's who I am."

"No," Xena's voice rose with urgency, "It's what you do. There is a difference, Marcus knew that."

Livia turned away, then lay down, curling her arm under her cheek. Xena made as if to rise, but Livia's voice stopped her. "Can you sing?"

Surprised, Xena nodded. "A little."

"I want to hear an Amazon song." Livia drew the covers over herself, and her voice became slurred, on the verge of sleep. "You must've ... sung for your daughter."

"I did," Xena murmured. She shifted a little on the edge of the bed, caught up in her own, too-recent memories. She could do it – sing. If she closed her eyes.

She tried it.

...Hush now, my little one, please don't you cry,

Rest your head on my shoulder and sigh...

Livia's breathing deepened into sighs, and her body loosened, became relaxed – and only then did Xena realise what it meant. She trusted her! Somehow, she'd won her daughter's trust. Perhaps there really was a chance.

...Sun's gone away, mama will pray...

And then, without any warning, Xena felt a deeper voice join hers:

... Silence will keep all the while you're asleep...

She didn't bother to open her eyes; he was invisible anyway, yet somehow still warm beside her, warmer still where their shoulders and hips touched. She didn't want Ares to see her, not when she could not stop the grief pouring from her, not when there wasn't even any anger ... But their voices coiled into each other as easily as if they'd done this many times before, and Xena felt powerless against the song's current.

... In your dreams see the sun,

Morning will come,

Chase midnight's darkness away...

The song ended. Xena opened her eyes to look at her daughter – and found Ares sitting there on the edge of the bed, visible after all. He looked absurdly boyish, embarrassed and pleased at the same time, as though she'd just let him hold the baby. Xena's throat closed up painfully, and a bitter heat rose to her eyes. That was so long ago...

"You're crying ..."

"No," she said – but she was, and she turned away so that he wouldn't see it; dug her nails into the bedding so that he wouldn't notice the voiceless sobs racking her body.

It had been such a long time since she'd cried.

Ares raised one hand a little awkwardly to the back of Xena's armoured shoulder. He wasn't sure how to comfort her, what to say, or do. When she didn't move away, he touched her hair gingerly, stroking its silky warmth. She was so close that he could smell the faint traces of smoke on her skin, feel her uneven breaths.

"Xena," he managed, in a voice that sounded too hoarse to be his, – "I'm not, you know. Proud."

She turned around, frowning, her eyes reddened, but still beautiful. A strand of her hair slipped through his fingers as she moved back from him, and he felt a wave of loss and relief.

"Not proud of what?"

Ares glanced back over his shoulder at Livia – Eve. Asleep, she looked small and broken, nothing like the Livia of the battlefield.

"What ... my daughter," he stumbled on the word, "did, out there."

They looked at each other uncomfortably. Finally, Xena's eyes slid away. "Our daughter."

He nearly said it, nearly asked her for another chance – but the words seemed stuck somewhere in his gut, squeezing it into a hard lump, fluttering wildly. Dimly, he recalled what it was like to be mortal and afraid – but he wasn't either of those things now! He only ever felt like this around Xena, when she looked at him with that unreadable stare, like she was doing now, and he wanted to say something, anything, just to see her face change, to feel solid ground again.

The silence lengthened. The Amazons, Ares thought. He could tell Xena about them, tell her all their plans; to Tartarus with the war!

But in the next instant Xena's eyes went to Livia's sleeping form, and when she looked at him again her expression had hardened; Ares could all but feel her withdrawing from him. Another minute and she'd be telling him to get out.

He saved her the trouble, and took himself to Olympus before she could say it.

"Ares?" Xena asked softly.

She waited a moment, but he did not return. It was just as well. He'd said he wasn't proud of Eve. Maybe a few crucifixions just weren't enough to make him proud. Or maybe he really did understand... She didn't want to ask, didn't want to think of it now. There was her daughter, looking so fragile, lost in her sleep among the spilt wine and the mind-numbing herbs. Ares probably gave them to her, she thought savagely, but could not quite force herself to believe it. No, Livia got them from Rome... from her mother.

That was the cruelest thing of all, Xena thought. Every moment of hatred in her daughter's life, every memory given over to drugs or blood was there because of Ares – because of the ice, because he was immortal, because he was War – and she could not blame him. She wanted to. She wanted to hate him for it, for burying her while Eve lived, for the things he'd screamed at her on the beach: So now she's my daughter? But the truth was, it wasn't just Ares. Eve was hers. If there was darkness in her soul, then so, too, was there darkness in the soul of her mother, locked away behind a door that had to be guarded and latched. Ares may have opened it, but it had been Eve who'd walked through. Just as her mother had done.

Silently, Xena rose and left the room. There were a few hours left before dawn, and she needed to sleep. In the morning the Roman army and their Amazon guide would be marching east, and there was a long, long road ahead.

* * *

She had abandoned the plan. There was no point pretending otherwise, and Gabrielle did not bother. Sitting cross-legged beside the fire, she felt alone with the night, and the maps. She put down the heavy parchment, unfolded her legs and leaned back until she was lying down, stretched out on the cool, prickly grass, head resting on her hands.

The stars were bright and countless out here. Gabrielle felt a sharp stab of loss at the sight. There had been a time when she and Xena would lie on their backs just like this, and watch the sky. Or maybe only she watched it, and Xena slept... It didn't matter, really. Back then, the little circle of light and warmth around them seemed safer than any fortress, and she'd felt more at home than in any other place in her life, before or since. She'd had peace, then.

Perhaps, Gabrielle mused, there was only so much peace in the world, just so much and not a bit more, and everyone had their little dollop of it, like rations in a besieged city. She was suddenly, pointlessly, angry at herself for trying to find peace in India, for dragging Xena through everything, just so she could wake up one morning and not imagine blood on her hands, her thighs, her pallet... Hope's blood. Her own blood, shed for every baby she'd never hold. It had been so wrong, so very wrong to search for peace at any cost – like stealing another's ration in that doomed city. Maybe her own ration of peace had run out a long time ago.

And maybe that was why she was preparing the Amazons for a war, instead of following their plan.

"Gabrielle?"

She sat up just as Varia sat down, so that they were eye-level, an audience of two for the fire. Varia half-turned and nodded at the maps – "The southern tribes are on their way; the others have already started training."

"Good." Gabrielle dragged the topmost map into her lap, and ran her hands over her face and hair, willing herself awake. The only thing she could do now was to ensure that Varia's ambitions didn't ruin the Amazons. Perhaps Xena could handle the Romans and Livia on her own, and they'd never make it here. Perhaps.

Varia leaned over to look, fire-bright eyes following Gabrielle's finger as it traced the coastline of the Euxine sea. "All this land," Gabrielle swept her hand over the western half of the seaboard, "Is under our control. The Romans aren't expecting that." And neither is Xena...

"What exactly are they expecting?"

"Scattered tribes. Here, on the Thermodon in the South, Prothoë's people; here, the Thracian and Greek Amazon lands; and here, the Northern tribes – and the Scythians."

"That's Centaur country!" Varia exclaimed, affronted.

"I know." Gabrielle felt too tired to argue. "Cyane's people have signed a treaty with the Centaurs. That means all of us have."

"So what? We don't need to involve them. This is our fight!"

"Would you rather they negotiated with the Romans?" Gabrielle pointed to the map.

Varia looked startled – then shook her head slowly. "You're right. They would do that." The remaining hostility in her tone seemed more like embarrassment than anger. "I should've thought of that."

Gabrielle nodded. Looking at the map, she was mesmerised all over again by the vastness of it. Allied, the tribes were indeed a force to be reckoned with. And she was supposed to lead this force against Rome – and Xena? She didn't have to, of course. But that would be like releasing the reins on a chariot hurtling downhill. It wouldn't stop; she'd just lose what little control she had left.

Varia frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Gabrielle pushed the map away. "Go ahead and ratify the treaty."

"All right." Varia rolled it up, then paused and looked over at Gabrielle. "You're an odd one, Gabrielle. You're good at this. How can you not love it?"

"What?"

"This," Varia hefted the rolled-up map. "Campaigning."

Gabrielle sighed. "War, you mean."

Varia's eyes narrowed. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Isn't it?"

Varia looked surprised. "What's wrong with defending your land? Doesn't it thrill you: the rush of battle, the terrified faces of your enemies, being everything that stands between your home and chaos? Come on, Gabrielle – I can see you're no stranger to warfare. Why else remain a warrior for so long?" She grinned, eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Admit it – you do love it."

"Blood, destruction, suffering, death..." Gabrielle shook her head. "I don't fight because I love those things, Varia. I fight because I don't."

Only here, it didn't make the slightest difference.

The Message

My power depends on my glory,
and my glory – on my victories.

Napoleon Bonaparte

Dawn broke over the forest, throwing a lacework of pale light over scenes of an army preparing to move out. Sounds of metal and wood and disembodied voices in the dark gained form, becoming visible: spoons clinking against mess tins, the heavy clatter of spears, the terse words of Amazons as they armed themselves.

Gabrielle wandered between tents and suspended hammocks among the trees: a smile here, a word of encouragement there, until her face ached from the effort. She was their queen, supposedly rallying them for the battles ahead. In truth, she wished only that she could stall some more. Perhaps there would be word from Xena, saying that she'd managed to convince Livia and the Romans to pull back. But Xena thought she had plenty of time. She was not counting on the Amazons' advance, and Gabrielle knew could not hold them back any longer.

She halted in front of a cache of spears. Two women from a Northern tribe, dressed in the traditional fringed garb, began to dismantle it as she watched. They handed out the weapons one by one to a line of Amazons snaking past. Gabrielle clamped her jaw shut, stifling the impulse to shout at them to stop, to wait. What good would it do? The cache continued to shrink. Each Amazon in turn took her spear, raising it once in a curt salute before walking away, every movement radiating excitement and resolve. They would not wait another day. Gabrielle knew she had delayed the march as long as she could; if she showed any more reluctance, the Council would simply transfer her command to another queen. No, they marched today.

Panic rose in a thin wave in her chest as the last row of the spears was handed out. Desperately, Gabrielle tried to think through it. She had to warn Xena. Before it was too late, she had to warn her. Only there could be no question of sending a message to Rome's army. The Council of Queens would think it treason on her part, not to mention utter stupidity. They'd lose the advantage of a surprise attack. She could imagine their voices now, telling her that her first responsibility as their leader was to her nation, not to Xena. There could be no message.

But there had to be a message!

Gabrielle stilled, thinking. Wait a minute. Wasn't she Jana, sent to the Amazon lands to find Semra's missing baby? A baby she wasn't meant to find, but that had been part of the now-obsolete plan... It could work. Gabrielle's shoulders sagged in relief, and she smiled so brightly that the last Amazon to pick up her spear gave her a surprised look. A little embarrassed, Gabrielle sobered and turned away, but the grin returned unbidden when she spotted Varia coming towards her, looking very pleased. The Amazon wore the same lightweight leather for the march as Gabrielle did, and a sword across her back. Her face, too, was painted in the same way; two diagonal slashes of red on each cheekbone and a line between the brows, a warrior's marks. She returned Gabrielle's greeting, clasping her arm, and beamed. "You were right about taking the extra time to train them." She nodded at the activity all around, "It's already paying off. We're moving fast, even in this terrain."

"We are." Gabrielle's anxiety returned, her smile slipping away. What little 'extra time' her stalling had bought was dwindling quickly, swallowed by the speed of their advance.

"I'd thought you were stalling, you know," Varia said apologetically. "I thought you just didn't have what it takes. I'm sorry I doubted you, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle struggled to keep her expression neutral. "Thanks; I appreciate that." She would never have thought that Varia's admiration would be more difficult to handle than her previous mistrust. And here she was, about to betray this faith that Varia and the others had placed in her.

That, or betray Xena.

"Get them moving," she said to Varia, "I'll be right back."

"All right."

When Varia had disappeared in the direction of the command tent, Gabrielle wandered a little further into the forest, until the sounds of the camp receded into the distance. She could write her message here, if she was quick... and if she had thought to take some parchment and ink. She cursed and began to look around.

There! A branch overhead had snapped at one point; after a few tries, Gabrielle managed to peel off a reasonably sized piece of bark. Squatting to pick up a small sharp-edged stone, she scratched a few words on the inside of the bark, paused to read them over, then added several more before rising to her feet.

There was no one within earshot, but Gabrielle kept her voice low, just in case. "Ares!"

Her throat was dry, but her palms were moist and cold. She fidgeted nervously, rolling and unrolling the message, unsure which possibility she dreaded more: Ares appearing, or leaving her to wonder if he'd heard.

Nothing happened, so Gabrielle raised her voice, "Ares, I need to talk to you!!"

A quick blue-silver flash left him standing in front of her, looking irritated. Gabrielle let out a small sigh of relief. Ares crossed his arms, "Looks like we need to talk about expectations. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the Genie of the Lamp."

"We had an agreement."

"Exactly, had. Past tense. Obligations discharged, finished."

"Not quite." Swallowing her nervousness, Gabrielle held Ares' dark gaze. "You were meant to help Jana look for Semra's baby. Well," she held out the message. "Jana just found her. And she wants to tell Semra."

She knew by the flicker of surprise in Ares' face that she had him. He'd do it! Gabrielle could not restrain a little smirk, ridiculously pleased that she'd managed to outmanipulate the God of War. She pushed the message towards him.

Ares heaved a long-suffering sigh, and took it. He eyed the bark sceptically, "Still taking it out on the trees, I see."

Gabrielle flushed. "It was all I had." Then, before she could lose her nerve, she asked the question that had been gnawing at her for weeks: "How's Xena?"

Ares gave her an odd look, and Gabrielle almost thought he'd answer, but then he said, mockingly – "How do you think she is?" – and before she could think of what to say to that, he'd disappeared.

"Ugh." Gabrielle almost kicked the tree in frustration, then thought better of it.

How did she think Xena was? Fighting for Rome, playing some ridiculous role, trying to save her daughter... alone. And now this. Gabrielle winced at the familiar feeling in her gut – guilt. Great. She supposed that was Ares' revenge for her manipulation. Could she really trust him? He was, after all, the God of War. Yet seeing him hadn't made her think of war at all. For some reason, it made her think of Eve. Something in Ares' eyes had been like a quick glimpse of that lost time before the ice, when she had caught him singing to his daughter...

Gabrielle sighed. Perhaps even the God of War could have some loyalty.

* * *

Ares slumped into his throne, the piece of bark still in his hand, and glared at the assorted weaponry on the walls, then at the torches. Most of them roared into flames. Their red-gold tongues crackled nervously, coughing up sparks that floated up, winking out before they could reach the distant ceiling.

Ares tightened his fist around the message. Damn the blonde! Why did she always get in the way? The God of War was not supposed to have loyalties. Sticking to one side in battle was a waste. Battles were by their nature unpredictable things, and the most unlikely of commanders could suddenly show potential and rally against the odds. Who cared what side they were on, when he could exalt in their victory? He wasn't Athena, who for all her wisdom could hardly ever find a 'righteous cause' to back, and so spent most of her time weaving. Athena missed the point. Righteous causes didn't win wars, battles did, and having loyalties meant interfering with battles. He wasn't in the habit of doing that. It would be like cheating in a game against himself. Oh, he could load the dice, give a warrior a fighting chance, but to personally decide the outcome of a battle? Where was the fun in that?

The blonde just didn't get it. Xena did; Xena wasn't expecting him to interfere. Their arrangement was fair: Gabrielle had had her chance to stop the Amazons. The rest of their deal had nothing to do with Gabrielle, but would that ever stop her? Ares scowled at the thought. Not a chance. No, she was just going to shove messages into his hands like he was her personal post-box!

He looked up from the message, to the massive doors in the wall opposite. This was the main chamber of the Halls of War: no castle or palace, but a labyrinth of vast caverns hollowed out from an ordinary-looking mountain in Thrace. The thick stone walls were faced with the blackest marble, veined thinly with red as though oozing slow trickles of blood, and even with all the torches burning, the chamber was still half-dark. The torchlight added gleaming patches of red to the statues and weaponry on the walls. Heavy red drapes moved lazily in the stiff air, but so deep inside the mountain they hid no windows. Those enormous doors, too, were little more than decoration; they opened to a dark corridor that stopped abruptly at a rockpile. Years ago there had been an exit, through a narrow cave concealed between cliffs dropping down into the foaming sea. Now it was a shambles of tumbled rocks overgrown with scraggly saltbush, and Ares had no interest in fixing it up. No mortal would fin d him here, and these days, no god would dare to look. The Halls of War were far more to his taste than the airy whiteness of Olympus. More private, too.

He held out the message. The bark was rough; he unrolled it carefully, without quite knowing why he bothered, and stared at the scribbles. Reading this was pointless; despite the bard's elevated opinion of her own cleverness, he had a good idea of what it would say. He read it anyway.

Beloved sister—

Ares rolled his eyes. Even leading an army the size of several lesser-known nations had not dampened Gabrielle's enthusiasm for flowery prose.

Beloved sister—

Know that your daughter's fate rests with the council of my peers, who are united in their anger, and seek to destroy her.

Unless she destroys them first, Ares thought. He tossed the message over his shoulder in the general direction of the fireplace. That, too, was pointless, because even before he heard the bark hit the stone floor, he knew that he wouldn't burn it.

The trouble was that Gabrielle turned out to be surprisingly good at the warrior thing. When she had taken over the Amazon command, he'd thought that she would make a few strategic blunders, wring her hands, then leave the world domination to professionals. Then, while the Amazons squabbled over their leadership issues, Xena could have carried on with her grand plan and no one would have been the wiser. Instead, Gabrielle had formed her army, wooed the Council, tamed Varia, and even sweet-talked the Centaurs into an alliance. In fact, she was looking more and more like a real Amazon queen every day. One of the ancient ones, the ones who could actually win a war without Xena's help. And what a war!

Ares felt a hunger shudder through him; he shut his eyes. The Amazon warriors against Rome. The greatest war in centuries, maybe even in history! He could almost taste it: the metal heat of blazing armour, tide after tide of it; the harsh guttural screams of battle – "Charge!"; the scorched earth; the feral brightness in their eyes as they called on his name. And Xena, riding into the fray, wild and unstoppable at his side, dealing destruction like the best of sacrifices, offering it to him with the same fierce abandon he knew in return. Xena, sharing his kills and letting him share hers, burning his whole being with the power of their union until he was the one screaming her name – Xena!

Or not.

Ares jammed his head back against the throne and exhaled a cynical smoke ring, complete with the curved bit in the centre. The hazy chakram didn't last long. Xena, Xena, Xena. That was the problem with this picture. It wasn't Xena. Ares drummed his fingers on the carved armrests. It was all very well to think of her riding with him into battle, fray, abandon, and all the rest of it – but right now, there was a piece of bark two paces behind him that said he was going to put a stop to this war. He could say good-bye to it the moment Xena laid eyes on that message.

Unless she didn't.

Thoughtfully, Ares waved a hand in front of him. A circlet of blue lightning crackled into the air before his eyes, at first only as big as the palm of his hand, then spreading outwards, growing like a slick of oil on the surface of a black pond. When it was near as large as the span of his arms, it rippled, turning hazy, then slowly filled with an image.

There.

Xena and Livia were riding side by side, following the first cohort of troops out of the tall wide gates of Dyrrachium. Morning sunlight glinted off helmets and shields as the legions marched out of the city, eagle-topped standards flapping brightly in the wind. Xena was in her gaudy Roman armour, naturally, just as Livia was. Even their horses matched. Ares felt a jolt of acute discomfort at the comparison. Oh, there could be no doubt that they were magnificent, easily eclipsing the glittering sea of steel around them. But... together like this – even if both had their eyes fixed firmly on the horizon, staring straight ahead – together, they were no longer quite Xena and Livia. They were a team.

Quite deliberately, Ares focused on Xena, edging Livia out of the picture for the moment. It made Xena appear closer. Her hair whipped out from under the helmet in long strands. She turned her head abruptly and looked directly at him. Ares' heart skipped a beat. Xena's eyes narrowed, almost hiding their blue. Before he could stop himself, Ares reached out and touched her cheek. Lightning sizzled across the portal, and to his astonishment, Xena blinked and recoiled. It took a moment to realise that she had merely heard Livia call her.

Ares leaned back, watching them talk. He felt curiously remote from it, and it wasn't just the second-hand view. He even made mental notes: Livia's studied nonchalance, carefully denying all connection with barbarian lullabies and the shattered wine pitcher back in the villa; the warmth in Xena's eyes as she said something that made Livia laugh and shake her head.

Why did she never look at him that way? They had been so close for those few moments in Dyrrachium, sitting by their daughter's side. Her voice had called to him, only to him; Ares felt a painful tug of longing at the memory – but then she had glanced at Livia and drawn back from him, as if it was all his fault.

There was Gabrielle's message, Ares remembered with rising irritation. His mind painted a picture more vivid than the portal before him: Xena taking it from his hands with scarcely a look in his direction, exchanging a few quiet words with Livia, casting worried looks towards the distant Amazon forests... And finding some way to call off this war without so much as a thankyou.

He was the God of War, for Fates' sakes! He would not be reduced to the role of a carrier pigeon!

Ares pulled back his arm and shot a burst of fire right through the portal. It sizzled bright-red across the room, melted a shield into a bubbling mess, bounded off the wall behind it and screamed back, past his face. He didn't flinch when it impacted behind his throne. There was a hiss, and a satisfying crackle of wood in fire. In front of him, the breach in the portal wavered and healed closed, with a noise like the swish of a blade sliding into a scabbard.

The view changed. Ares could see the Amazon army, too far below to distinguish faces, advancing west. Then the Roman army, marching east in a column of dust. He hadn't done this in too long, he thought, seating himself more comfortably in the throne. This was, after all, his job. The faint scent of burnt bark reached him; Ares flared his nostrils slightly, wincing, and caught himself wondering if he could put the stupid missive back together. Hastily, he squashed the thought. Anyone who needed his help didn't deserve it. Not even Xena.

Xena knew the rules.

The advance continued. The Romans moved with solid, lumbering inevitability that disguised their swiftness. Towards them, so far that they were visible only to the God of War, came the wildly undulating lines of the Amazons. The Amazons didn't so much march as melt into the landscape; with thrilling speed, they disappeared in valleys and poured over hills, while the Romans marched on heavily, closer and closer, and closer again.

The sight was mesmerising.

Ares was vaguely aware of the passage of time, human time, with nights and days. Darkness came and the armies became constellations of firelight in the wide expanse of land, until daylight brought the colours back and the movement resumed. A perfect thing to watch, two great rivers rushing to meet in a violent burst of power. It was exhilarating. Ares let it flow through him, drinking it in thirstily, anxious that it could end before he'd had his fill.

The anticipation of the conflict itself became almost unbearable; days no longer passed quickly but stretched into long hours, and yet the God of War knew that the armies had not slowed their advance. He urged them on anyway. Sometimes odd thoughts intruded into his watching, images of faces that were vaguely disquieting. The Roman general, oblivious to something important. A dark-haired woman, beautiful but always frowning, troubled. A blonde Amazon, biting her nails anxiously as she stared at the horizon. Ares had the oddest sense that they were all waiting for him.

A message. The Amazon had wanted him to deliver it. She had no comprehension of the power she was dealing with, no sense of the greatness of the river which she led. She was blind, but he – he could see everything, laid out perfectly in the palm of his hand, there for him to crush, or to set free. The power of it made him giddy.

The message. A ploy to distract him; he knew all about it and dismissed it with ease. The God of War didn't lose focus that easily. The message was supposed to stop this war. How could anyone stop it? It was a force of nature, he wasn't directing it or causing it, but he was enjoying it. The Romans – the Amazons – the Romans again, and soon, very soon, they would collide and the rush of power he would feel would sweep away all the troubling faces, the Roman girl, and the Amazon, and...

Xena?

Betrayal

How insecure are the doors
In the kingdom of Trust
For those who trust only in locks!
And so it's inevitable –
The light of our tenderness
Is extinguished by
The weight of somebody's hand.

Evgeny Klyachkin, "A Wet Waltz"

Despite its name, Moesia Superior had little to recommend it. By reputation it was a land of barbarian tribes that had no appreciation of Latin culture and possessed an unhealthy contempt for authority. Few Romans came this way, preferring the warmer climate and richer pickings of the civilised southern provinces. The few who did come were fugitives, exiles – and now, soldiers.

"It's getting dark," Livia noticed after a moment's silence, or as near to silence as the sound of an army could be, marching over the muddy grass that passed for a road in these parts. She looked at Semra riding alongside her. It was good to have someone to talk to, and she had to admit that the Amazon was more interesting company than any of her other officers. Clad in full Roman armour and riding a tall white horse, it was all too easy to forget that Semra was an Amazon at all. Sometimes, just for a moment, Livia allowed herself to forget it.

Around them, pale velvet reeds were starting to colour with the sunset, waves running over the plain in the dusk. The ground was so damp that neither the men marching in front, nor the thousands that followed them, raised any dust. The view was clear. In the distance, the plain curved upwards to a line of hunchbacked hills, their smooth contours vivid in the evening light.

Beside her, Semra nodded forward over her horse's white mane, towards the hills. "We could camp as soon as we reach higher ground. Once we get past these marshes." A damp swamp smell permeated the air. Small insects buzzed in it.

Livia took a breath, then let it out with a grimace. "If the smell is anything to go by, Moesia's reputation is well-earned. It is the backwater of the Empire."

Semra chuckled. "It's going to get worse before it gets better."

"Is that experience or your natural pessimism speaking?"

"Just fact. There's more marshes past these hills."

"And let me guess," Livia sighed, "more hills past the marshes?"

"Naturally. Only those hills are forest. Marshy forest. We'll have to use the trees to get through the swamps." Semra's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "By the time we reach the forests of the Amazons, we should be as adept at tree-climbing as they are."

Livia gave her a look of disbelief. "Amazon, we have mules and wagons!"

Semra shrugged with undeniable smugness. "You know what they say. When in the Amazon lands, fight as the Amazons."

Livia glared at her, but a grin was already tugging the corners of her lips upwards, escaping her control. Damn the woman for making her laugh! Not that the prospect of dragging her army through muddy forest was a cause for merriment, but – oh, to Tartarus with it! "Fine," she managed finally, with what she hoped was some dignity. "If the scouts confirm your dire predictions, we leave the baggage train in camp. I'm looking forward to seeing this forest." Pointedly, she looked away from Semra, hiding her smile.

"That doesn't sound very Roman." Semra's voice came unexpectedly quiet. Livia glanced at her sharply. The woman was looking the other way, over the helmets of the general's private guard, over the gold sea of swaying reeds, her body jarring with the hoofbeats. "I've never known a Roman to like forests."

"I didn't say I would like it." Livia was immediately irritated that the Amazon should question her right to call herself Roman. "I said, I look forward to seeing it. If you must know, my reasons are purely Roman. I'm going to survey the ground all the way through these forests and marshes, back to Rome. It's high time someone built a decent road here."

Semra kept her eyes on the men marching in front, their boots squelching in the mud. "Roads bring armies."

"Roads bring trade," Livia countered, satisfied at the turn of conversation. "If the Amazons are to make a useful province for my Empire, I can't very well expect merchants and couriers to climb trees to get there."

Semra blinked in surprise, "A province?"

Livia shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "I don't have to destroy them to conquer them." She guided her horse closer to Semra's, avoiding the worst of the mud. "Free, they're no use at all. But conquered, they're a symbol. Rome can conquer anything – even the Amazons. And it will. I will."

"You know they'd die before they let that happen." There was regret in Semra's voice.

"That's what Ares said, too." Livia had meant to sound dismissive, but she heard the grim note in her own voice. "Well, it's their choice to make. If it is death they want, you and I can oblige them. If not, they can take what Rome has to offer."

"A difficult choice."

She gave her Amazon guide a frown. "You think I'm being soft?"

Semra stilled in the saddle, then expression became surprisingly gentle, at odds with the Roman helmet that framed her face. "No," she said. "No, I think you're right. Completely right."

They rode on in silence among an army of thousands, away from the setting sun.

After a while, Xena looked over at her daughter. The slight gauntness of Livia's profile was softened by the evening light. Xena fought the tenderness that welled in her heart, and the sadness. What could she do? This war was to Livia a necessity, a means of securing her hold on the throne, a thousand things she needed. She wasn't even intending a mindless slaughter; she thought that her offer to merely subjugate them should be welcomed by every Amazon tribe. A fair choice: peace under Rome, or destruction and oblivion. My daughter is Rome, Xena thought. She doesn't know how to be anything else.

"Go easy on the pessimism, Semra. Even my horse can feel it." As if in confirmation, Livia's horse tossed its mane, setting its decorations to jangling.

Xena started. "Whatever makes you think I'm a pessimist?"

Livia gave her a mischievous grin. "I've had a long time to study you. You're not all that hard to figure out."

There was a familiar sinking feeling in Xena's stomach. She was so tired of Semra! Trying to sound lighthearted, she said, "Care to enlighten me?"

"Gladly. You're worried about Eve."

Xena's lips twitched. "That's not much of an insight."

"Oh, I think it is." Livia swivelled in the saddle to see Xena's reaction. "You're worried that Ares won't keep his word."

Xena tensed. She relaxed very deliberately. She wouldn't let herself think about it. What had happened in the villa in Dyrrachium had been a momentary illusion of comfort; it changed nothing. Ares hadn't been around since then, and a part of her felt grateful for that. Another, smaller, part wondered why he stayed away.

Livia gave her a knowing look, but it was friendly. "You worry too much." She gave the reins a light slap to quicken the pace of her reluctant horse. The animal snorted at the mud, but complied. "Ares will get her out long before we reach the Amazons."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I know him," Livia shrugged a little smugly. "He needs me. I'm giving him the war he's dreamed of for years. The God of War wouldn't let some baby stand in the way of that."

"Not even his own?"

"Especially not his own."

The dull worry that seemed to be Xena's constant companion these days flared like a toothache. She said, "If I don't have my daughter—"

"Not that again!"

Impatiently, Livia motioned for Xena to follow her, turning her horse's head and urging it into a faster trot, out of the main body of the column. She waved away her guards, riding through the ranks. Xena rode after her.

When the two of them were out on the open plain among the murmuring reeds, the marching army well behind them, Livia slowed down and turned. The ground sloshed under her horse's uncertain hooves.

"Listen to me," Livia said, "We made a bargain. You know the Amazon forests, I know Ares; it's a fair deal. We won't attack until your daughter is safe, I promised you that! You'll get her back." She paused, as if debating whether to say more, then sighed. "You have my word on that, as a Roman and as... as your friend."

"I pray you're right," Xena said, but did not have the heart to add the look of gratitude Livia probably expected. Livia had called her her friend, but she'd called herself a Roman first. Would that ever change? Time was slipping away. Gabrielle was somewhere out there, alone. It was disconcerting to realise how much she missed Gabrielle, how much she needed her. The thought that there were still hundreds of miles of difficult swampy forest between this army and the Amazons should have been reassuring, but only seemed to make Xena more weary. Gods, how she wished Gabrielle was here...

"See," Livia smirked, "I told you you're a pessimist."

Xena gave her a rueful smile. "I prefer realist."

"General!"

Both women turned as one to the sound of hoodbeats approaching. The young rider reined in his horse with some difficulty; it neighed and rolled its eyes. Xena recognised the freckled face – Rufus.

"Amazons," the tribune said breathlessly, trying to control his skittish horse, "Not a day's ride from here! The scouts are all back."

Cold sweat washed over Xena's body. Amazons? This far west?!

"Good," Livia said without concern, "It's about time we ran into one of their outposts."

But Rufus was shaking his head vehemently, "Not an outpost, General! There's thousands of them, like locusts, the forest past the next valley is boiling!" He glanced at Xena, and she was shocked by the naked hatred distorting his usually friendly face.

"We saw the leader," Rufus raised an accusing finger, "It's Jana. Her friend."

"What?!" Livia and Xena said simultaneously. Xena's knuckles turned white on the reins. Gabrielle!

Rufus pointedly looked only at Livia. "It's Jana."

A pause hovered in the darkening air, heavier than the stench of swamps. "Nonsense," Livia said with the doomed certainty of one who knows it cannot last. "You've never seen Jana."

"I have. So have most of the scouts. She's leading the Amazons against us; all the tribes as one."

"All the tribes?" Xena queried numbly.

Rufus ignored her, but she noticed his eyes dart back to the gathering darkness of the roadside. It seemed to be closing in on her.

The shadow of a calculation flitted over Livia's features. "So," she said to Xena conversationally, "Your friend turned out to be a traitor after all. So much for loyalty. No matter, we can do without her."

"Commander!" Rufus gasped, aghast. "This woman's betrayed us all, she's leading us straight into the Amazons' trap!"

"Shut up!" Livia snarled with such force that Rufus blanched. "I lead this army, do you understand?"

"Yes, General," he mumbled, but Xena caught the indignant confusion in his tone that edged perilously close to insubordination. Did Livia notice?

"Now." Livia sat back in the saddle. "We get out of these marshes and make a fortified camp, immediately. Send out more scouts; I want a full report by tonight."

"But what about her?"

"That is none of your concern, tribune," Livia said stiffly, her voice hiding a warning. Then, under her breath, she added to Xena, "Tonight. You will go with Ares, find Eve yourself." Aloud, she said, "We attack as soon as we're ready. The fools are making it easy for us! All in one place like this, we can crush—"

"Wait," Xena said. She paused in the silence that followed, unable to go on.

Livia shook her head, her lip curling back in angry denial. The challenge in her eyes turned almost to a plea, and with a building sense of panic Xena knew she could do nothing about it.

"I have men on standby," Rufus offered, "ready for your orders, General." To Xena he added, "Don't try anything, you're surrounded." It came out a little boyishly. Wryly, Xena thought that he must have longed for a chance to say that for years.

At Rufus' signal the shadows shifted and became the shapes of armed men. With trained detachment, Xena counted at least thirty, well spaced around them.

"Well?" Livia prompted.

Xena felt the trap spring shut, but it wasn't the ring of Roman soldiers that did it. She saw the need in her daughter's pale face, the demand that Semra say the right words, curse Jana's treachery, cry for vengeance with the fury of a true Amazon. Livia was giving her a chance, gambling everything on it: her better judgement, the respect of her men...

She could have her daughter back, Xena thought. In this one moment, she could do it.

All she had to do was betray Gabrielle.

"I'm so sorry," Xena whispered, holding her daughter's gaze, appalled at the way it dimmed and folded in on itself, drawing away from her. "I lied to you..."

Those words, those precious words she had longed to say became a grubby little trick. Another lie; it seemed there could be nothing else between them – everything was built on lies, and it was all falling apart. There were no more straws to grasp, and Xena could only watch helplessly as her daughter became the Champion of Rome again, foreign and unknowable. Only this time, it was her own doing.

Some mother she was.

Livia turned aside and waved a dismissive hand, all business. "Take her away."

Then she motioned at Rufus and the two of them rode slowly out of the circle of guards, back to the road. Distantly, Xena thought someone must have stopped the march before, because the column was only resuming its movement now, she could hear the low thunder of boots, hooves and wheels starting again.

She did not resist as the soldiers closed in, taking the reins of her horse. The animal worried and tried to shy away from unfamiliar hands; Xena soothed it with one hand on its warm flank, stroking the white silky coat gently, like a child's hair. Her captors were uncomfortable, too used to thinking of her as their commander. Between the cheek-guards of their helmets, their faces seemed all alike in the fuzzy greying evening, differing only in the shadows of their expressions: some angry, others almost sympathetic, or wary, or curious.

"Get down," said one of the men gruffly.

Xena obeyed, sliding from the saddle. The soft reeds flattened under her feet as she sank ankle-deep in the mud. Bad ground for running, observed a practical voice in her head, out of habit. Like treading treacle. Better to stand and fight.

"Turn around."

She did, waiting as someone twisted a length of rope behind her to hold her hands.

"Semra."

Xena's heart leapt. She looked up. Livia had stopped her horse and was looking at her from the height of her saddle, her gaze flat and empty, dark against the setting sun. She smiled crookedly. "We're more alike than I thought, Amazon. You see – I'm a realist, too."

* * *

"You're sure?" Gabrielle repeated, feeling suddenly claustrophobic in the command tent. There were too many people: scouts, Varia, other queens...

"Positive," the scout confirmed. She was one of the southerners, fleet-footed and dark, with eyes that glittered like a bird's and were just as keen. "We saw them, right there." She jabbed a finger at a hill on the map, an alarmingly short distance away.

"Making camp?"

"And building fortifications."

Gabrielle looked up at Varia, then at the others. They all wore identical expressions, and Gabrielle knew they shared the same conclusion: this was it.

"We should attack now, before they're organised," said Prothoë. "Press our advantage." Others muttered their agreement.

"Thank you," Gabrielle said to the scout, and watched the girl make her way out of the tent. The whole thing felt like a nightmare, where simply imagining the worst made it real.

The Romans were here. This was a fact. Gabrielle struggled to arrange others around it. Options, what were her options? Perhaps Ares never gave Xena the message. Yet even without it, surely she wouldn't let them attack the Amazons... Or perhaps Xena had misunderstood it. Or – and this last one tore at Gabrielle guiltily – maybe Xena had received it, read it and decided that any army capable of destroying Rome deserved a chance to try. Maybe she'd led the Romans here deliberately. Xena had always hated Rome; now that she had her daughter, could she really keep her safe and lead all those soldiers to their deaths? Was she trusting Gabrielle to win this war? A little part of her felt flattered that Xena would trust her with such a thing – and that terrified her.

"We build fortifications," Gabrielle said, shivering as she looked at the map. "And send out more scouts. We'll attack when we're ready, not before."

"Lunacy!" snapped Prothoë. "We are ready now! Why waste a perfect chance? We could run them over before they know what hit them."

"I said, we wait." Gabrielle thought fast. "It could be a trap. If they're building fortifications, they already know we're here."

"Then why aren't they attacking?"

"Could be the marshes," Cyane spoke up doubtfully, and Varia nodded – "The valley between us and that hill is all swamps. More swamps to the west, too. Not enough room to deploy, nowhere to retreat. We won't manage to dislodge them off that hill, even if we do reach them before they've fortified their camp. Not unless we find some dry ground." Cyane raised her eyes from the map. "Gabrielle is right. We can't move until we have the scouts' report."

Grateful for the support, Gabrielle sagged onto her stool. "Varia," she said, "can I ask you to organise our fortifications?"

"Of course."

Gabrielle looked around, making sure they were listening. "We'll need everyone's support on this. There will be no attack until we know exactly what's going on. We must be ready."

There were reluctant nods, and Prothoë frowned in displeasure, but no one voiced an objection. It would have to do.

"The council will meet again tomorrow, at dawn."

Salutes were exchanged, and then everyone was filing out. Gabrielle stared at the map, at the faint brownish mark left by the scout's finger. "Xena," she murmured, "what are you doing?"

"You know what she's doing," came a deep, familiar voice from the shadows. Gabrielle whirled about so abruptly that the stool folded under her and she found herself on the floor, staring up at the God of War. He looked on in amusement, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. "Need a hand?"

"Ares!" Gabrielle scrambled to her feet, blood pounding in her head. She grit her teeth, "I knew it! What have you done to Xena?"

Even before the words left her mouth, Gabrielle became conscious of a difference in him. Something had changed since their last meeting in forest. She took an involuntary step back. There was a new coldness in Ares' face, and his usual self-assured smirk was more condescension than humour. His eyes were flat, but they burned with something hard and unforgiving, like the rubies in his gauntlets and sword.

Gabrielle felt suddenly uncertain. Softly, she echoed, "What have you done..."

"Done?" His smirk widened almost into a smile. "Why, nothing, Gabrielle. Nothing at all."

She had a choice, Gabrielle realised. Panic, or anger. She chose anger. "Nothing?! Then why is the Roman army making camp on the next hill as we speak?"

"I assume even the Romans need to sleep."

"Dammit, Ares!" she exploded, "Don't play with me!" She took a breath, advancing on him, trying to ignore the whimper of fear in her stomach. "Why is that army here?"

That insufferable smile was still on his face. "You tell me. I thought the plan was to hide them in their forests, oh, about two hundred miles east of this place."

"Not my army! The Romans." Gabrielle felt her voice shake treacherously. Gods, she was all right, she wasn't going to break down now, not in front of Ares...

"Your army." He lowered his voice to a near-whisper, and looked right into her eyes. Gabrielle gasped. A wave of desire washed over her, a twist of white-hot flames. Her lips opened on an inarticulate sound, teased and tormented past all comprehension, until all she knew was that she wanted it, wanted this nameless thing, and then with no warning at all, she had it. Power. It thrummed through her muscles, and for a single heartbeat, she was invincible, ancient and very young, vital. So powerful.

Then it was gone. Gabrielle felt her legs give way. She staggered, caught herself on the edge of the map-table. "What was that?" she breathed.

"Power," Ares said matter-of-factly. His voice was like a splash of cold water on her face; Gabrielle stood straight again, trembling lightly.

"Power?"

Ares looked at her in amused pity. "That's what it's all about, little girl. You wanted to know what the Romans are doing? Now you do. That's how I feel every day of my life. It's how Livia feels now. It's war."

"War," Gabrielle heard herself repeat stupidly.

"Yeah," Ares said, and this time, he did not smile at all. "It's war."

He tilted his head back, and Gabrielle realised he was about to disappear. In the same moment, something clicked in her mind – "Wait!"

Ares looked back at her.

"You said Livia," Gabrielle blurted out. "It's how Livia feels now. What about Xena?" Then certainty dropped like a lump of ice into her gut. "Xena didn't get through to her, did she. It's still Livia's army out there. She is leading it, not Xena."

Surprise touched Ares' face, and then something else, something directed at her. Almost... admiration. As though he had given her a puzzle and she had found its meaning.

"Is Xena all right?" Gabrielle asked shakily. "Please... I have to know."

"For now," Ares said, but the look he gave her was not at all reassuring. Then the room was suddenly empty. The God of War vanished so soundlessly that for a moment, Gabrielle wondered if he had been there at all.

She bent down to pick up her stool with slow, jerky movements, and set it meticulously upright. My army, she had said to Ares. Gods... What had she done? And what had she done to Xena?

* * *

The air whined – and slashed across Xena's back, another line of fire. And again. The whip paused, and Xena snatched a breath, staring mindlessly at the tent wall before her face. The dank air tasted like sweat. She tried to empty her soul, to focus on those long-gone words of Lao Ma's: stop willing, stop desiring, stop hating.

She couldn't... she couldn't do it, couldn't stop thinking, and when the whip returned it made no difference at all. It cut her again, but the pain was a distant dread on the edge of her perception. Xena put all her efforts into trying to control the rage that lashed her from within, and every time the whip licked her back it unfolded a little more, gained strength, tempting her. She ground her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. It didn't help. All she could see was red, an endless sea of red filled with hatred and an ancient agony. Her mind could no longer separate Ares' face from Caesar's, or this whip from the ropes of her cross. She knew this rage, this dark thing hatching in her soul. Betrayal. The whip struck her again.

How could she have been so blind? Her daughter had told her that she was giving Ares the war of his dreams, and still it hadn't hit home; Xena could not forgive herself for it, didn't want to. Ares knew, must have known what had happened to Gabrielle, why she was leading the Amazons in war, and he didn't tell her. And a damned, stupid part of her had listened to his lies, had wanted to believe that he cared about Eve... Enough to let her live again. He sang with her! He had sat beside her, pretending to be human, to understand, while all the while Gabrielle was calling for help somewhere... And she'd let him touch her. Gods, after all these years she'd let him touch her... Wanted him to touch her, longed for warm hands on her bare skin, for the taste of his lips... The next blow seemed to slash right across her heart, and Xena couldn't bear it any longer. She screamed.

The sound rose over her ponderously, unfurling black wings, then shot out from the tent, as though scattering into a flock of shrieking ravens over the camp. In a corner of her mind that was too distant for pain, Xena imagined soldiers dropping their tasks to glance fearfully at her prison, shuddering at the inhuman sound.

The whipping stopped, fading into the silence of breaths. Xena again became aware of the featureless brown leather of the wall before her. Her view became obscured by the tunic of a Roman soldier. There was a fine spray of red on it.

"Sorry 'bout that," his voice sounded from far above her, the sincere but impersonal apology of a man who had completed an unpleasant duty. "Rome's not fond of traitors."

Xena moved her head, without looking up. She could not speak for fear that the black rage inside her, barely leashed, would break free. She didn't want to hurt this soldier. Not him.

He retied the ropes around her wrists and jerked Xena backwards into a sitting position on the earthen floor. Her back screeched into agony. By the time she had disentangled the pain from her mind, she was alone in the bare tent.

It didn't last long.

The familiar ripple of awareness engulfed her, searing broken skin. Even before it was over, Xena had struggled to her feet, twisting to adjust the linen wrap crossed over her hips and breasts, standing up awkwardly with bound feet and hands. She would not face him kneeling.

Ares' appearance was utterly silent, the way it hadn't been in years; the power it radiated needed no flash of light to make itself felt. He materialised into the space before her, a thicker black in the dim air, then became real. The metal studs on his vest gleamed dully in the half-light. His eyes were hooded, his stance impassive. He had appeared this way when he'd framed her for murder all those years ago, trying to force her to return to him. Beyond arrogance, it was the cold assumption of a god that no mortal could withstand his will.

Xena raised her eyes to his. She saw no trace in them of the man whose hand had stroked her shoulder in uneasy comfort, so sincere she had almost believed it. That had been a passing joke. Now, she was looking at the God of War as he truly was. He held out his hand.

"Come with me."

Xena felt the ropes slip from her wrists and ankles, freeing her. Her mouth distended into the mockery of a smile. "I've already come too far with you, Ares. It ends here."

"Does it?" He gave her a tolerant smile, as though he had expected this answer, and lowered his hand. "I think Gabrielle will disagree."

Xena felt the blood leave her face. "Gabrielle?"

"Yeah. You see, for her, things are only just beginning. Tell me, Xena, have you ever seen an Amazon council?"

"Once," Xena admitted before she could stop herself. This was no time for his games! She wanted to yell, but something stopped her, a ripple of power in Ares' eyes. "I killed them," she said abruptly, like ripping back a bandage. "All the elders of the Northern tribes, the whole council. I killed them all."

"That's all blood under the bridge. This is now. You sent Gabrielle to face the new Amazon council, and..." Ares shrugged imperturbably. "Let's just say your retreat-into-the-forest idea wasn't a big hit. So now they're here, and there's not a thing Gabrielle can do. Except play along. That's right – you've turned her into quite a little warrior, haven't you?"

Xena said nothing.

"So what now? Oh, you can martyr yourself right here, in this excuse for a prison, the Romans will be happy to oblige. But you do that, and you'll be leaving Gabrielle to Livia. Do you really think Gabrielle can win that battle?" He paused, and a flicker of emotion touched his dark-glowing eyes. "My money's on our daughter."

His words cut Xena the way the whip could not. Gabrielle, her Gabrielle... Livia wanted to fight her. Ares was right; Gabrielle was in trouble! And she was here, unable to help. How could she have let it happen? Gabrielle had gone to face scattered tribes and instead found a nation of warriors.

A nation of warriors. For a moment, Xena frowned at the words, unsure why they sounded familiar. Then she remembered and her breath caught: What touching concern for a nation of warriors. Ares! He'd said that when she asked him to take Gabrielle to their lands.

So the Amazons had been united all along, and Ares had known it and told her nothing, taking Gabrielle from her with a flick of his hand. And she had thanked him for it.

For a moment, she could not speak.

Ares held out his hand again. "Come with me. I'm taking you to the Amazon camp. It's time Gabrielle got a pleasant surprise."

Xena raised her face. The woman who answered was the Destroyer of Nations, leaving her god.

"No."

"No?"

"I'm staying here."

Ares' eyes came alive suddenly, flashing with disbelief and then anger. The aura of power fled like fog. "Are you insane? What do you think you're doing? You let them take you, beat you like some common slave! You could've—"

"What? I could've what, Ares? Joined my daughter in slaughtering Gabrielle and the Amazons? Or come with you now to join them in destroying my own child?"

"You could've joined me, and none of this would've happened!" A mad glint came into his eyes, like tears. "I offered you everything back in Rome; you could've had it all – Eve, the Amazons, everything – but you turned me down. You wanted to do it your way? Well, welcome to the end of the road!"

"You did this," Xena hissed, choking with rage, "Gabrielle didn't unite the Amazons, you son of a bitch! It would have taken months, years – but she didn't need to, did she? Because they were already united. Even Livia didn't know; it would have ruined your perfect war, spoiled the surprise. Then all you had to do was force Gabrielle into your service and you had your war: Eve against Gabrielle! The only two people I care about. That's what you've wanted all along."

"Xena—"

"No!" She grabbed the front of his vest; she felt like the welts on her back were consuming her, turning her chest raw until she tasted blood. "Did you think I'd snap, Ares? Break my chains like the last time you had me trapped – and kill them all? Eve, Gabrielle, until there was no one left... Until I was yours again! Was that the plan?"

Ares' mouth became a snarl, he jerked away. "You might not believe me, but my offer was genuine. We could've gone away from all this, you and I, and our daughter – but you wanted the Amazons warned."

"It would've worked, if you'd bothered to tell me just how strong they'd become! But you wanted your war, at any cost."

"Not with the blonde as their queen!" He flushed darkly. "You might not believe me, but that was never my plan; your precious Gabrielle had no help from me. That army out there? That's her doing. Bet you didn't think she had it in her! Well neither did I."

Xena's body stiffened, shut down. Breathing was hard. "Gabrielle did that?" He was lying; he had to be. Gabrielle couldn't have done it alone... But even as she thought it, Xena remembered the Amazon council she had seen, and knew that they wouldn't have given Gabrielle a choice. Being an Amazon meant being a warrior; leading an army against her will – and against her friend... What was it doing to Gabrielle? Why had she let her go?!

And Eve. It was Eve whose army would face Gabrielle's.

"You could've stopped it." Ares' eyes were boring into her, he was everywhere around her, impossible to escape. "You had the chance, and you threw it away. Now Eve thinks you're a traitor – and she'll stop at nothing to make you pay, not until she's destroyed everything you hold dear. Starting with Gabrielle. Rome hates traitors, Xena. Eve hates you."

Xena felt mute, unable even to deny it. Ares seized her shoulders, exploding her back into such pain that the tent lurched around her and her legs threatened to gave way. He paid it no heed, his eyes wild, staring into hers. "How does it feel – knowing that the person you love despises you? Trying to reach her, but knowing that in the end it will either be her, or you?"

Xena felt a terrible calm take her. "To hear you speak of love..." She brought her mouth to his, then past it, to his ear. "It makes me sick to my soul."

He dropped her abruptly, as though her skin had scalded him. Xena fought for her balance, found it, stood watching him. For a moment there was silence; all she could hear was Ares' breathing, laboured as if he had screamed his throat bloody, even though he had barely raised his voice. Then he spoke, and this time the words were polished steel, a clean slice into flesh.

"Eve and Gabrielle are doomed, because I make you sick." His jaw tightened into a semblance of a smile then past it, until moisture shone in his eyes. "Okay," he said, backing away a step, "but if I sicken your soul – this war is going to kill it."

Then he was gone, suddenly absent from Xena's every sense. She forgot the pain, all that mattered was that she had let herself be betrayed once again, and it had cost her her daughter and Gabrielle. She moved after Ares uselessly and stumbled, falling to her knees on the ground. The ropes were back, and she was bound more tightly than ever before.

* * *

Livia came out of her tent onto the artificial hillock that was its base and stood quiet a moment, her eyes recording details that her mind refused to recognise as important. The night was cool and still, black sky pierced by countless stars. The camp smelled of woodfires and burnt porridge, familiar smells made foreign by the fainter undercurrent of swamps in the air. Here and there, campfires flickered among the squat leather tents, chasing back the night from small circles of reddish warmth. Her soldiers clustered around them, mending weapons and kit, or finishing their evening meal, greasy fingers sopping up the last of the porridge with rough chunks of black bread. Conversation was subdued, curiously muffled without the usual ribald laughter and shouts, like the murmur of onlookers at the scene of a murder. More like a suicide, Livia smirked sourly at herself.

She yanked her cloak closer around her shoulders and stepped out onto the wide packed earth of the Via Principalis. A guard made a questioning motion, but she shook her head curtly. The last thing she needed was an escort. She needed to be alone, to trust no one but herself, just as she had always done. Semra had kept telling her to trust her heart. That figured, Livia thought. Her heart was a traitor, too. Three turns off the Via Principalis would bring her to the tent where the Amazon was being held. Right, then left, then right again. A small distance to negotiate. She could do it.

She pretended not to notice the way her men nudged each other as she went past, whispering with furtive glances in her direction. She knew what they were thinking, what unspoken thought made the air hum with tension. Semra's betrayal had been a sign: their general's luck had run out.

Fortuna had abandoned her Champion.

Livia forced her stride to be measured and calm, mentally counting the rhythm. Fortuna had abandoned her Champion. The thought did not fill her with superstitious horror, but with a tooth-grinding resentment. All her work, everything she had achieved, the fools laid at the feet of their mythical goddess. Yet that was how it had to be. What other way was there for a Thracian foundling to command Roman legions or rule Roman masses? They loved her because they thought Fortuna loved her. Fortuna existed only in their minds, and it was their minds Livia knew she had to ease if she were to keep their loyalty and their awe. Nothing else mattered, not the way her traitor heart had listened so avidly to Semra's earnest lies and lulled all suspicions, nor that Ares must have been in on the deception all along. Later, Livia promised herself as she walked, later she would think about how she had allowed it to happen. Right now she had to regain the trust of her men, their willingness t o live or die as she commanded.

Their fear of the unexpectedly formidable Amazons showed plain in their hunched shoulders and grim faces, and several times Livia heard snatches of stories of the wild women of the tribes, told by men trying to cover their fear to men whose own fear grew with each word. If she lost them now, she would lose the war. And if she lost the war, she would lose Rome.

Livia crossed her hands behind her back and walked on; a general taking the measure of her troops. Her eyes, coolly neutral, met the eyes of a young ranker warming his porridge over a fire. The man gave a visible start, dropped his eyes hastily and scampered away into the night. Livia wondered briefly if it was fear that drove him, or humiliation, shame at the way his general had allowed herself to be betrayed. It did not matter, she decided. He would have no cause to doubt her after she'd had her revenge on Semra.

The prison block came into view when Livia rounded the last corner. It was a small tent, each side scarcely five paces across. There was a row of wickedly sharp stakes around it, facing inward like watching guards. Two armed guards of the human variety blocked the entrance, both looking as unsettled as only a Roman soldier could in moments like this. Livia would have wagered that it was not the thought of fighting the Amazons that bothered them so, but the superstitious dread that they were doomed before the battle had even begun, because Fortuna had abandoned their ranks.

Damn Ares and his fucking plots! He had played this war like a game, moving his pieces on both sides. She should have known that he would not be satisfied with her promise of conquering the Amazons. The God of War wanted a great battle. Under normal circumstances she would have been only too happy to give it to him, but now he had left her no choice, and that rankled. Damn it, she was the Champion of Rome, and he had treated her as nothing more than another warlord in his service!

And Semra. What was she to him? Didn't he trust Livia to give him a great battle without ensnaring her with all those lies about banished Amazons and missing children?

Livia frowned at the guards. Something was wrong with the picture she was seeing. There was more to this than Ares' desire for battles, and somehow it all came back to Semra, and the way Ares had lied for her. In all the years she had known Ares, she had never known him to do that. She didn't understand it, and that frightened her. There was a game here, and unless she worked out the rules, she would be nothing but a dispensable pawn, to be discarded when no longer useful.

No! Livia squashed the little girl that surfaced in her thoughts. She wasn't a pawn. That was Semra. Semra had been arrested and Ares had not interfered. Perhaps there was a way out of this after all, and Semra would give her the key. She would find out from Semra every last shred of truth, about her and about Ares and about the Amazons... Provided, Livia thought with a sudden lurch of fear, that Semra was still in that tent.

Critically, she assessed its fortifications, the palisade and the guards standing at attention, their eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond her. Neither stakes nor guards would keep Ares from rescuing Semra if he so chose. If her gut feeling was right, he wouldn't do that; anyone who needed his help didn't deserve it. But what if she was wrong, and Semra was even now telling the Amazons all she knew of the Roman army?

Then, Livia thought clinically, the game was up. They would beat a hasty retreat tonight, she would pay off her men as best she could out of her own coffers, and then they would go to their farms and smithies, and she would go.. where? Home? Livia tossed her head at the thought and strolled slowly toward the prison tent, as though her fate wasn't riding on what awaited her within.

The two men at the entrance stood aside as she approached, unfastening the leather flap and holding it open for her. Livia could see nothing but darkness beyond it, the contrast making her aware of the pale moonlight that sketched the guards' faces.

"Lepidus," she greeted the senior of the two. Despite the patrician name, he was a thick-necked Picentine with small eyes and a face that looked ruddy even in the weak light.

"Fortuna's Champion," he saluted her gravely. If his deference hid any mockery, Livia could not see it.

"Everything under control?" She made her tone brisk, hoping it did not betray the urgency she felt.

"Just as you ordered, General. No incidents."

"None at all?" Livia pressed. With an effort, she injected some humour into her tone, "No mysterious flashes of light?" She caught the confused look that passed between the guards, and added lightly, "No woman-turned-bird flying out?"

The two men laughed uncertainly. "No, General," said the second, a stocky fellow with deep-set eyes. "No lights, no birds."

Livia felt a sudden, dizzy relief – she'd been right! Ares had not taken Semra away; she was nothing to him now, she had no bearing on the battle... Something else tried to edge its way into her mind, but the thought was startled by the guard's voice.

"I reckon Lepidus here might've clipped her wings a bit." He gave his partner a bare-toothed grin, and the Picentine patted the whip at his belt, shrugging with the air of a tradesman. "She's a screamer."

With a steel flash, Livia thrust the point of her sword under Lepidus' blunt chin. "I gave no orders to harm her!"

"N-no," Lepidus stammered at her sword, his face not just ruddy now but a brilliant red, "Not in so many words, no – but she's a traitor to Rome, worse than them three back in Dyrrachium!"

Livia wanted to drive the sword right up, through the guard's thick neck. Finally, she removed it. "You were set to guard my property. If I find that your damage has rendered her useless to my campaign..." She let the threat dangle.

The man's throat bobbed and Livia could see thick veins straining in his neck, below his ear. "No, General. It was only a whipping, I swear."

"Hm." Livia let him sweat under her gaze for another silent moment, then turned abruptly and entered the dark tent.

The smell hit her first: sour sweat, urine and blood. It made her eyes water, and it was a moment before she spotted Semra in the thin wedge of light from the doorway. Disgust added itself into the relief Livia felt, and the mixture roiled and twisted nauseatingly in her stomach. The Amazon was indeed here, but she was unrecognisable. She sat motionless against the back wall of the tent, staring at a burnt-out lantern before her, legs folded under her, hands tied at her back. Her once-glossy dark hair fell in lank strands over her face and bare shoulders. Her armour and tunic were gone; instead, a length of coarse linen wrapped her body, off-white except where it stuck to her sides in dark merging stripes with angry edges. Blood. Livia could not see the woman's back from where she stood, and didn't want to. She knew what it would look like.

To her horror, Livia felt the stinging return to her eyes. Unbidden memories surfaced. Her own whip cracking uselessly against a man's back while Marcus lay dead on a couch of red velvet... And worse, Semra's wordless sympathy, making her feel like a child again, powerless to change anything.

Well, she wasn't powerless now! She walked briskly towards Semra's huddled form, the stinging in her eyes gone. Semra lifted her head at the sound of footsteps, and Livia noted with relief that she was perfectly conscious. Good. She would not let her slip away and steal her revenge.

"Amazon." Livia kicked the lantern aside and squatted in its place, face level with Semra's. "You know why I'm here."

Semra's emotionless, hollow-cheeked face did not change, but a glimmer in the corner of her eye became a tear. It left a shimmering wet trail on her cheek. Livia felt an irrational impulse to wipe it away. Instead she grabbed Semra's chin impatiently, forcing her to meet her eyes. Damn the woman for turning this into an Athenian tragedy!

"Don't make me despise you any more than I do already. That was a warning; you won't have another. Do we understand each other?"

Semra tilted her head slightly. Livia decided it would do. She released her chin. "Now. You're going to tell me everything I want to know, and I mean everything." She gave the woman a thin smile, like the blade of a knife. "Who knows. The truth might set you free."

"What do you want to know?" Semra's voice came as a shock, hoarse as if with years of disuse, instead of the few hours that had passed since her arrest.

"You can start by telling me what you did to get Ares on your side."

The intensity that flashed in the Semra's eyes was unsettling; Livia realised that the woman must want her revenge on him, too. It was strange to see her own hatred glittering back at her out of Semra's bright eyes.

"He's not on my side."

"Not anymore, that much is obvious." Livia broke the contact and let her gaze flicker contemptuously over Semra's miserable form, her tied hands and feet and her stained wrap. "If he was still on your side, he might've thought to help you out."

"Ares helps no one but himself!" A twist of pain passed over Semra's face and then it softened, lifting to Livia's as though she prayed. "Livia, listen to me. You said it yourself, this is the war he's dreamed of for years. Don't you see that Ares is using you? He doesn't care about you. He just needs you for this war, the same reason he needed me..."

"Enough!" Livia's hand flew to Semra's cheek, but some instinct made her stop short of striking it. Her hand hovered beside the woman's expressionless face until Livia found the control she wanted. She took a long breath and dropped her hand.

"Of course Ares needs me for this war. What he doesn't need is you. Why should he, when he has Jana?" She gave Semra a probing stare. "It seems that Ares has finally found a worthy opponent for the Champion of Rome. I must remember to thank him."

Hot pain came into the woman's eyes, and Livia smiled in triumph. "Feeling left out? You're finished, Semra. Ares doesn't need you anymore, and frankly," she sighed in mock pity, "neither do I."

To Livia's surprise, all pain drained from Semra's face and she only nodded, like a commander listening to a scout's inventory of a much larger enemy force. "In that case, why keep me alive?"

Livia could not help a flicker of admiration. Whatever else she was, the woman was a true warrior. She knew how to die well.

"Call it curiosity. I want to know what Ares ever saw in you."

"I've told you, he didn't—"

"Liar!" The word echoed in the tent. Livia flushed, angry at herself for losing control. Quietly, she said, "You've told me nothing. I want to know..."

She paused, and then recalled the thought she would not let into her mind earlier. A memory pierced her, a hot dart of humiliation. The imperial palace in Rome, the throbbing pulse of the music; Ares and Semra so close together, their hushed, emphatic voices. Then Ares' hands around Semra's waist, her face raised to his... Like a laugh in Livia's face. Their kiss.

She glared at Semra, trying to regain her detached air. It was impossible, she could hear the hated pain in her voice as soon as she spoke: "What you were doing at the bacchanalia? I saw you. Ares was slobbering all over you."

"That..." Understanding swept over Semra's face. She knit her brows in pity or guilt. "It wasn't ... that." She shook her head quickly, dismissing excuses. "I'm sorry."

It was a confession, and Livia felt a hollow conclusion inside: Semra had to die. Up until that moment she hadn't realised that she'd been hoping Semra would have an explanation, something to save herself. Well. It didn't matter. The woman had seen her weak and powerless; she could not be allowed to witness it and survive. Semra had to die. But not before Livia found out what she needed to know.

"So he fucked you. You think I didn't know? Don't bother apologising, I couldn't care less. Besides, you're not bad looking, or at least you didn't use to be." Livia held the edge of Semra's blood-encrusted wrap between two fingers, then dropped it in revulsion. She clenched her teeth. "But he lied for you. Lied to me! I was meant to be his Warrior Queen, but he wouldn't even touch me – and then he helps you betray me. You know what's going on, so just fucking tell me! Why should the God of War spurn Rome's Champion?"

Semra squeezed her eyes shut briefly, as though she had been steeling herself against this very question. Then her pale gaze returned to Livia, and it seemed to ask for her forgiveness. "Because the Champion of Rome is his daughter."

An inexplicable fear froze Livia's chest, stopping her heart. "What?"

"It's true." Semra's lips curved bitterly and Livia recognised her own expression, greeting the sour joke that was life. "Ask him."

"My father, Ares?... You're crazy!"

Semra said nothing.

Livia laughed, a short high-pitched sound that edged on hysteria. "How would you know!"

"I know." Semra's lips turned pale, but there were darker spots of colour in her cheeks that made her look feverish, not quite human. "I know," she repeated with sudden clarity, "I know your first smile, your first breath, your tears... I am your mother."

"You ... are my mother." The words fell like raindrops, a pattering barrage on Livia's skin. Insane; the woman was either insane or delirious from her wounds – so why did a whispering part of her heart want so badly to believe it? Semra couldn't be her mother, she was far too young for one thing... Maybe she was the one who was insane, and this was a trick of her own mind? – but no, she couldn't be, not when she was so close to achieving all her dreams, she couldn't lose now, not ever...

"You're my daughter," Semra implored, "Your name is Eve."

"Eve." Livia clutched the familiar name, and then the slide into madness halted, faltering. She glared at Semra's white face, "So that's your game!" The giddy realisation of this new betrayal was too powerful to fight. All those things she had told this woman about her parents, about Marcus!

Livia leapt to her feet, ignoring the protest in her legs, backing away, her head moving from side to side. "You think you know me? You think you can use all that garbage I told you against me, and I'll just lap it up? You think I want a mother so badly that I'll spare your worthless hide?"

"Eve, you are so much more than this—"

"Shut up!" She kicked out and Semra doubled forward, her mouth clacking shut, her hands going to her stomach. The ruined skin of her back split with a sickening noise and the stains on her torn wrap grew wider, brighter.

Livia leaned down to gather the woman's hair and yanked it back sharply, drawing a short gasp from her. "I have a mother all right, and her name is Rome." The sneer she attempted came out crooked. "It was a good plan, I'll give you that. Trying to find my weaknesses to destroy me. It might've even worked – if I'd had any!"

Semra's blue eyes were huge; Livia realised that it was fear, and that it was only the second time she had seen Semra be afraid. The first had been her arrest. Good, she was finally getting it! She twisted her wrist cruelly on Semra's blood-matted hair, once, then let go and wiped her hands on the sides of her tunic in distaste.

"Eve," the woman pleaded, "I know it sounds incredible..."

"No more incredible than your other lies! But I'm through listening to you. I found out what I needed to know." Livia traced a sharp fingernail down the line of Semra's tear, annoyed that the woman did not draw back from the pain. The nail left a white welt on her cheek that darkened to pink and then red. Semra made no sound.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid I have a prior engagement with your pal Jana." She raised a silencing hand. "Don't tell me – she's your daughter, too? Or maybe mine? Well, Mother, you can fill me in on all the creative details when she's dead."

* * *

Gabrielle lifted her head, surprised to see Varia return so soon after the council had been dismissed. She frowned at the doorway through the smoky air. "Is it about the fortifications?"

Varia ducked inside the large five-sided tent, rattling the strings of beads at the entrance, and stood there, uncharacteristically hesitant. Her eyes wandered from Gabrielle to the map spread out on the table before her. "It's not..." she said at last, ostensibly to the map. "Not about that."

"The scouts?" They couldn't be back yet, surely...

"No." There was an apprehension in Varia's tone that Gabrielle had never heard before. Dread caught her, adding to the barely-contained panic inside; she had the dizzy sensation that she would not be able to cope with another disaster, that she was already holding on by the thinnest of threads and it could break at any moment.

She rose and crossed the reed-strewn floor, meeting Varia halfway. The Amazon flinched at the intensity of her stare. "Varia, what is it?"

Varia was still not looking at her. "Have you heard from Xena?"

Phrased so baldly, the question stung. Slowly, Gabrielle shook her head. "No." It was hard to admit the fear in her heart. Her thoughts kept returning to what Ares had told her about the Romans remaining loyal to Livia. He'd said that Xena was all right 'for now'. But how long was 'now'? And what threatened her after that? "I expected a message, or—"

"That's why you're holding off the attack," Varia said, making it a statement. "You're worried about Xena. Don't you think she can handle herself in combat?"

Gabrielle felt a twinge of resentment. "It's not just Xena! I'm worried about what this means. We have no idea what's going on in there. Did Xena not have enough time to stop them? Or did she fail, is she... is she hurt?"

Or is she laughing with Livia and Ares as they make plans together, had the temptation of an army proved too much? No, Gabrielle thought, Xena had changed. Had she, herself, changed also? She should have fought harder, sent a message earlier, ensured that Xena got it, somehow – found some way to stop this before it got so out of hand! Before she had turned herself into the Amazons' warrior queen. What would Xena think if she saw her now? Gabrielle felt her face burn hot with helpless shame. Swearing to protect the Amazons had seemed so noble, so right. Just one vow. Was this how it all started for Xena?

She let out a long breath, and it felt like the remainder of her strength went with it. "I want freedom for the Amazons, Varia – as much as you do. And if it comes to that, I will fight. I just need to know that I ... that we're doing the right thing." Even to her, it sounded weak.

"Gabrielle..." The softness of Varia's voice startled her; only then did she realise how quiet the Amazon had grown.

"Yes?"

Varia dropped her eyes momentarily – then she looked back at Gabrielle, her brow creased, tense with a new resolve. "There's something you should know about this war." She looked almost guilty. "It's ... about Ares."

Continue in Part 4 (Conclusion)