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The voices of the gods never made themselves heard when mortals were about. Even when I was captured and taunted by the Romans, they had abandoned me. I had longed for even the worst of their voices when trapped among the Romans. But now as I listened to the demon-god Loghaz’s voice upon the wind, I found myself faltering.

“I am Tiwaz? the huntress…”

You are a slave. Your Roman snaps his fingers and you jump and spread your legs like a pampered concubine.

I snarled at him, striking my fist out in rage at the empty air. All he offered in response was laughter. Yet, while there was hot anger in my breast, I still felt some satisfaction at the return of these solitary companions, spirits who were such an integral part of my daily existence, whom I had come to know for so many lifetimes. I resolved not to argue with them, but to rebuild the shambles that Rufus had made of my life.

That night I did my best to commune with the mother-goddess. I ached to hear Her words. Once She spoke: You shall endure my sister. But it was only once, and She sounded almost uncertain, then She fell silent and did not answer my calls. I curled into a ball that night and quietly prayed for Her voice until I fell asleep.

She did not touch me in my dreams, either.

By day, the only voice I heard was Loghaz. I tried to ignore him or taunt him in return while spending my days attempting to restore my surroundings to their virginal beauty. Cleaning up the violations as I went, I began hunting and collecting useful belongings from my few remaining campsites. It was clear the Romans had looted the first site I revisited, but I could tell that others besides the Romans had desecrated my other sites. Each place I returned to brought the icy laughter of the demon back to my thoughts as I wondered whether it was the Romans or my own people violating me in each case; either way, Loghaz’ gloating ridicule grew with each passing day.

You fear him, little fool. His mark is burned deep within you.

It angered me to suffer the taunting of this deceiver while all other voices remained lost to me. The mother-goddess Nerth? refused me even when I went to the extreme of killing a stag and making an offering to her. Worse, Loghaz shrieked in derision as I did so. The sudden sense of shame I felt in that moment was so alien and so overwhelming to me I sobbed.

I endured the taunting. I also endured Nerth?’s rejection of me. Despite them both I forged ahead, preparing to reassert myself over the people I had owned for so long. I knew them as the Darrihard?z although apparently they no longer called themselves that.

There was much else I realized I had not known about them. They had changed over the centuries while I had not, so I avoided any direct confrontation with them, for now, as I contemplated how I might reassert my power over them.

They were mine! If I had to kill them all I would do so, but they would be made to worship me again. Yet night after night the voices would not respond, and I could not bear the thought of facing another mortal. I could not clear my head enough to plan how I would re-take their worship.

Then Loghaz invaded the realm of my dreams, his demon’s voice conjuring images of shame and despair that tore me screaming from my slumber. He tormented me with images of Rufus, the memory of Rufus’s hands upon me, and the pleasure I felt that last night with him even as I struggled to resist the urge to tear out his throat with my teeth.

Why sleep when your master’s touch awaits you? Or does he await his death at your hands were you not such a weakling coward? Yes, you are a coward, coward and weakling and pathetic whore…

But this time, I quieted and just listened to the demon’s taunting. Instead of arguing or shutting him out, I just listened. He seemed almost disappointed and soon quieted himself as I felt resolve grow within me. Like a moth to a flame, I knew where I would go. I set out that next morning knowing what I would find, and I feared it in a way I had not permitted myself in so very many years. As I journeyed, silence was my only companion.

There had been much coming and going around the clearing where my altar had stood. Taking my time I circled the site, satisfying myself that no one was lurking nearby. Approaching from the south I could taste smoke in the air, and I knew it to be a campfire for I could detect the scent of meat upon it.

Crouching In the shadows I listened for any sound carried upon the breeze, but there was nothing of any note. I advanced carefully, watching my footing, staying to the shadows until the clearing was in sight. There was a single tent, Roman, and a campfire with simple cooking accoutrements set to one side. There was movement in the tent and I settled down to watch. After some time Rufus emerged and set about tending his fire.

His arrogance angered me, but did not surprise me. Whatever he was, he was not one to give up easily. He desired something from me, something more than my body or my obedience. Memories of whispered gloating in the night air chilled my heart. I could not accept that this man might be my equal—the very thought of it was absurd. At that moment all it would take was the lifting of my bow and the setting of an arrow. I could take him in the leg, then the arms and let him struggle towards his weapon as I strode up to him. Knife in hand I would kick him over onto his back so he could see my face as I slit his throat…

I wonder even now what would have been the course of my life had I done just that?

I watched unmoving as he went about his small chores with the efficient precision of one well accustomed to living in the wild. He maintained his fire, buried his scraps, gathered more wood, refilled his water gourd from the nearby stream and tended to his bodily needs. It was boring routine, yet I watched him in utter fascination, as if by taking in these mundane things I could divine the inner secrets of his soul. Not once did I raise my bow. As the day wore on towards evening he partook of bread and what had to be salted meat along with a generous portion of wine—first taking a small part of each serving in a cup and pouring it over the fire as he spoke quiet words of ritual.

When he finished his meal he stood and stretched, his magnificent form straining as his muscles tensed and bulged. As he relaxed, his gaze wandered about the clearing.

“I know you are out there,” he said, his voice firm, but not shouting. “This is my sixth night here. The first five you were nowhere near this place, but tonight you are here. I can feel you.”

My heart leapt up into my throat and I forced myself to cease the trembling that threatened to betray me. I turned my head, listening for the telltale signs of anyone approaching, but the forest was undisturbed by anything other than Rufus’s voice. He turned, slowly scanning the edge of the clearing, his eyes trailing past the spot where I sat concealed.

“Had you come to kill me you would have done it by now. Since night is falling and I still live, you must have had another reason. Do you know what it is?”

That I did not understand why I had not killed him made the question almost intolerable to hear from his lips. He went on, his voice friendly, even jovial as he spoke to the darkening gloom of my forest. Eventually he fell silent and with a rueful shake of his head he retreated into his tent. I waited, keeping quiet counsel with myself as the moon crawled up the sky, a bare sliver of the waning light casting a dim silvery glow to the land.

Nothing stirred for long hours and finally I rose to my feet, quietly stretching the cramped muscles in my legs as I carefully slung my bow over my back and drew my knife. I crept forward, taking a half step every few heartbeats, circling my way into the clearing and towards the tent. Drawing closer I could hear his deep rhythmic breathing as he slept. I circled his tent, but I could not bring myself to enter it.

It was not fear, nor was it mercy. I knew that should I retreat into the forest the brutal spirit haunting my dreams would return, his derision and scorn redoubled and well-deserved. Why could I not act? How had he done this to me? My forest, my people, my world—all now bore the mark of this man. He had torn all the rhythms of my life asunder and I could not make them whole again so long as he lived. For the first time in a very, very long time I was afraid of what songs were sung on the night breeze. My place was not certain, my understanding unclear and at the center of it was this magnificent, arrogant enigma.

Trembling with renewed anger I stepped to the tent flap and carefully drew it aside.

For the first time all day Loghaz spoke.

Kill him, little whore. Will it set you free, or destroy you? Kill him and see.

The choice was made so suddenly I hardly had time to think as I dropped to one knee and scraped my mark into the soil outside the opening to his tent, and then backed away slowly until I reached the edge of the clearing. I turned and fled into the forest as a dark, malicious laughter tainted the air and hot tears stung my cheeks. I ran as hard as I could, trying to make a reckless pace and the sound of my passing drown out the words I knew that dark spirit spoke, but to no avail. I reached my camp and he was there, just a wordless laughter amongst the rustling leaves, dripping with contempt.

Sleep was elusive, as it had been for days. I would close my eyes and it would steal over me—the sensation of being watched. So strong was the feeling that I would start suddenly, my heart racing as I gazed about. I knew there was nothing to be seen, but the certainty of danger in the once-comforting darkness was lodged in my mind and would not be cast aside. And so I spent yet another restless night, finally falling into a light slumber as the birds began their chirping to greet the coming dawn.

Rufus touched me, his strong hands urging me over on to my back and I gazed up at him, clad in his shining breastplate, the gleaming helm upon his head, its crest a brilliant crimson flowing over his shoulders. He touched me and my body shuddered even as the anger burned in my heart. I shouted at him, Why are you here? He simply smiled and reached out to me, clasping my hand in his and drawing me to my feet, my body so light I seemed to float in his grasp. He spoke to me in a whisper—I strained to hear, then recoiled as I recognized the bleak, grating voice: I know what you are…

Laughter rang in my ears as I was startled to wakefulness and I leapt up, confused and frustratingly frightened until the sound fell into place—merely birds. I went to the entrance of the cave and found hundreds of birds in the trees twittering and chattering at each other. Fear and anxiety were replaced by the low, burning anger that had settled in my heart since the day I awoke and found myself Rufus’s captive. In turn, that opened the door to shame and confusion. Why had I not taken his life? Why?

I wrestled with that question for the next two days and through it all the demon laughed at me, stripping all my pretenses bare until I wept tears of anguish, begging him to be silent just one night, just one hour…

It is not for me to choose silence, fool. It is for you to silence me.

It was as if I were trapped, as thoroughly bound and imprisoned as I had been in Rufus’s camp. I could strike out in any direction and take myself far from this place but the memory of Rufus and my humiliation at his hands could not be left behind. It was as I came to this point after another long and sleepless night, followed by half a day of wrestling with the demon’s laughter, that I heard other voices, voices unlike those that tormented me, the voices of people.

I fetched up my bow and followed the sounds, knowing what I would find. I came upon them by a stream that fed into the river another day’s walk to the southwest. There were five of them, women. My people. Following the stream they were gathering berries and anything else of interest, an activity that in and of itself was not unusual; however, they had not approached my altar. This was most likely due to the man camped there, but I could tell there was more to it for they were blissfully unconcerned. Surely they knew I had escaped the Romans? They should have been cautious and wary of the shadows, but there was no hint of unease about them.

I could have changed that. They were women and unarmed other than the long knives they used to chop back the brush and take whole branches from the fruit-laden bushes—I could easily take them with my bow. Delivering their heads in a sack to their village would serve as ample warning I truly had returned and would not countenance disrespect. Yet I felt fear at the thought of approaching them and anger at my own fear. These were my people, mine by divine right! But I could not face them even to destroy them. It was maddening.

It is because such things avail you nothing whilst your master awaits you. He takes his ease in your sacred place—there shall be nothing for you here so long as he lives.

That dark and demanding whisper—it came now without the breeze to give it voice. It mocked me with words I knew to be truth. These women did not represent a challenge to me. Not yet. Not so long as Rufus dwelt in these woods. Not so long as he lived.

I turned away from them, leaving them to the chores that defined their short lives. I had business this evening with an arrogant creature whose hand still gripped my thoughts and haunted my dreams. He who had no right to hunt me, to hold me, to gloat over me and then offer me my freedom as if it were his choice, his decision. Accepting that from him was the weakness in me that now drove the madness, forcing me to hear little but the dark and malicious spirit who now mocked my every thought and deed.

Once the choice was made silence again became my companion. As I made my way directly to the altar clearing, my mind became so very settled and calm. I slipped into the icy detachment of my familiar mien, embracing it with joy as my murderous resolve invigorated me, setting me to running that I might reach the clearing before darkness fell.

Everything fell away from me, all my anger and doubts since I had left the Roman camp, the fear and confusion of my dreams. The calm focus in my mind centered on that single thing required for me to be whole once again.

I reached the clearing while there was still some daylight remaining. Approaching warily I took up a position on the eastern edge, directly across from the opening of Rufus’s tent. He sat within, his tunic gathered about his waist, his chest and shoulders uncovered as he worked a stone along the edge of the short blade of his sword. I watched him for some time until he finished with his task, cleaning the blade with an oiled cloth and returning it to its sheath before he stepped out of the tent and stretched, much as he had before. His eyes turned toward where I crouched… and they stopped.

“I spent the past days learning every shadow and tree surrounding this clearing,” he said, speaking directly to me, “and now there is a shadow that does not belong. Perhaps you might care to share my supper, sparse as it is?”

I said nothing and he sighed after a moment, shaking his head slowly as a smile touched his lips.

“As you wish. Crouch in the shadows if that is your desire, but I’ll make you pay a price for your loitering about. I am going to enjoy some wine, and I am going to tell you a story.”

With that he turned his back to me and picked through the bundles laid out before the tent, fetching out a leather bottle and a loaf of bread. He made a show of settling down to eat, again pouring a small portion of wine into his cup and offering it to the fire before tearing off a piece of bread and beginning to eat. I watched with some curiosity as I debated whether to take him down with my bow, or to risk his strength and face him again with my knife.

“The Greeks,” he began, “named her Artemis. To my people she is Diana. To both peoples she is The Huntress, amongst other things. When I was born my father took me to a seer, one purported to ken things unknowable to other men. That oracle proclaimed me to be one whose fate was known to the Huntress, and that through Diana I would find greatness and power. My father took great care in seeing that my path was set to honor Diana, and through that I have achieved some fame. Yet it seems there must be more. I know I yearn for more. I feel the eyes of a goddess upon me.”

He stopped then and partook of his wine. Despite my purpose this day I was fascinated, for Marieko had spoken of the gods of the Greeks and Romans, but had never mentioned this. Watching Rufus I knew there was no deception in him and in the light breeze touching the leaves there was nothing—no laughter, no mocking, no dark spirit urging me forward. Intrigued by his tale and enthralled with his beauty I awaited his next words.

“My father was a man with powerful friends. They took an interest in me and recommended me to the Praetor of Spain, he himself a man of influence and friend of my family. I came and took the commission offered for I believed the frontier was the place to find glory that might propel me further towards my ultimate goals. It was there I first encountered an old man, a barbarian from beyond the borders, who told a tale of a beautiful Witch both ageless and cruel who killed with a bow made deadly and unmatched by the gods.

“I dismissed his words, but I did not forget, and as life in Spain grew tiresome and repetitive I began to wonder if I had made a mistake. Some few years had passed and the tale of the Witch came to me again, this time from a trader, a Roman of low status, but good bearing. He told of peoples who lived in fear of the Huntress. I was ready to dismiss this as well, but then the Praetor asked that I undertake a mission, visiting the peoples beyond the frontier. I was given some two hundred men-at-arms and sent out to follow the frontier and take the measure of what lay beyond it.

“That mission led me here and allowed me to see if this Witch was a creature of myth or of fact. When I saw you that first day, standing proud and arrogant over the bodies of my men, your bow clutched in your hand and your eyes fixed on mine… all doubt left me then. I knew that fate had brought me here, had brought us both here, so that we might meet and contest. Our destinies, yours and mine, are bound together. I can never achieve the glory I am due without you. You can never be more than a frightening and murderous witch skulking in the shadows without me.”

He stopped then and I found myself regarding him in a new light. Rufus was my enemy, of that there was no doubt in my mind. I hated him for his arrogance and his presumption of the right to call me his own. Yet his words… his words rang true. It was frighteningly clear to me that he believed what he said, and if anything, that fanned the flame of resentment even hotter within me. I listened to the forest, straining for some hint that he was lying, that he was a fool, but the voice that had driven me forward was now mute. Just as before, with Rufus aware of me, speaking to me, the gods abandoned me. And what did that mean?

“You presume much, Roman,” I said, speaking in a low, contemptuous voice as I rose from my crouch with my bow in hand, an arrow at the ready. “My only desire is to claim your life, and have my freedom.”

“Yet you are free, are you not? I gave you your freedom without hesitation or reservation. Turn and go from here. I’ll not follow.”

“You gave me nothing!” I spat, “You sent me from you with the promise I would be free, yet you haunt my dreams!”

He stood then, his eyes fixed upon mine and said, “Then we have another thing in common between us.”

We stood regarding each other for a very long time. Curiosity warred with anger in my breast as I tasted the words he had spoken and the admission he had just made. My own dreams, the restlessness borne of mocking words that filled the air when I was parted from him, it all possessed a kind of symmetry when I took his claims into account. He believed these things, was willing to place his life in my hands to share these notions with me. I remembered my thoughts as he had pursued me so relentlessly, driving his men by sheer force of will: I had thought he must be a god himself. Could it be that simple?

Moving carefully, deliberately, I lifted my bow, turning to the right as I drew the arrow back until my hand rested just below my jaw. I sighted on the center of his belly, a target impossible to miss at that range. I watched him as he stood unflinching, his eyes hard as granite as he awaited my judgment. He was confident, and arrogant, and beautiful…

My arm trembled as I allowed the bow to relax and then slipped the arrow into the quiver on my back. I was by no means certain of my choice, but there was no other way. Were I to kill him now there would be no way to be certain he was not telling the truth. I strode into the clearing until I faced him from across his campfire.

“Why?” he asked. Just that one word.

“I don’t know why. Tell me more.”

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When we arrived in the camp the initial humiliations were not the worst they could have been. They freed me from the pole and shifted my ropes to the high branch of a tree, leaving me dangling by my ankles, my wrists still bound together but hanging free. I noticed my hands, still quite numb, were purple and swollen. I was left to hang there for a good while as Rufus’s men poked, prodded and mocked me, occasionally making threatening gestures, twisting my breasts or roughly grabbing at me between my legs.

I bore their taunting without response until one of them made the mistake of letting his hand stray near my face. I sank my teeth into the meat of his hand and he howled, clawing and punching me repeatedly as he tried to pull free while his fellows laughed at his predicament. It ended when one of them kicked me hard in the side of the head. I saw stars, but managed to laugh anyhow.

I noticed a few of the tribesmen from my people were there in the camp, keeping a fearful distance. Even those who came close out of curiosity did not dare approach me. They were not fools. They knew the legends of the witch-goddess who could not die and the vengeance she might wreak. But finally one of them did find the temerity to speak to me.

“Why did you allow them to capture you, great Tiwaz?? Have you lost your power?”

I stared at him and said nothing, glaring upside-down into his eyes until he shifted uncomfortably and left. As he did so, I began to feel a twinge of uncertainty. Though he still feared me, an unmistakable doubt had filled his countenance. It was a doubt I began to feel stirring in my own soul, though I tried to deny it.

I thrust the feeling away when I saw Rufus himself finally approach. I noted the poultice bound about his right forearm and the stiffness in his gait from the wounds to his chest and soreness in his groin. He would not soon forget that we had fought. He had obviously groomed himself after our contest and was wearing a fine white shift that hung slightly above his knees, with short sleeves and a loose rope belt. I was particularly taken with his sandals, which were intricately bound to his muscular calves. Even hanging upside-down, I noticed again just how beautiful he was. I briefly considered spitting at him, but instead merely waited as he looked me up and down carefully. Then he spoke to me again in the seafarer tongue.

“So you speak Greek, witch woman, though your accent is crude. Well, what have you to say for yourself after killing my men and giving me such a chase?”

“I spoke the seafarers’ tongue long before the goat that spawned your father was born,” I growled.

He looked at me with a half-smile and said, “Can you tell me why I should not let my men have their way with you, then cut your throat?”

“If you were not such a pathetic coward you would cut my throat now,” I rasped.

“You would rather die than be dishonored,” he said. Even as I swayed slightly in the breeze I kept my eyes locked upon his. His gaze was level but his smile stayed upon his lips. “Impressive spirit you show for a woman.”

I tried vainly to spit at him but my mouth was too choked and dry to do more than make a rude noise. “If you haven’t balls enough to kill me then let me down little man so I can cut off the tiny ones you have and shove them down your throat!”

He smiled at that and laughed gently. “You have a noble spirit, and might fetch a pretty price in the right market. It is a pity fate brought us to this circumstance.” He turned and spoke in the strange tongue to his men, who stared at me as he gestured and spoke firmly. I listened as closely as I could, attempting to pick up the feel of their language, but I had no time to get the gist before he turned and spoke to me again.

“Cruelty for no purpose is useless and destructive,” he said, “and I am not easily insulted by careless words. Yet by killing my men you have given me no choice. None would respect me were I to allow a barbarian woman to humiliate me,” he said. “I might let you go were it not for that,” he said, “but you have sealed your own fate.”

He seemed serious, but I said nothing. He looked at me some more, sizing me up, then shook his head almost tenderly as he walked away.

As he disappeared into the camp three of his men cut me down and surprisingly gently lowered me to a sitting position. One of them, a particularly weasel-faced one, squatted and showed me his knife, trying to provoke fear. I stared at him as I would a worm and watched the disappointment on his face with some satisfaction. Then he smirked, reached for the complicated knot that bound my wrists and with a jerk suddenly loosened it.

At first I was surprised at my good fortune, but then realized my own foolishness. Before I could stop myself an embarrassing gasp came from my lips. My hands, swollen and numb, were now on fire. As the blood rushed back into them the only sensation was raw pain. A foot lashed out and my head snapped to one side as I was forced on to my belly. Stunned by the blow I struck out with my useless hands but they were seized again and lashed together behind my back. I tried to rise up only to be kicked over onto my back again as another man grabbed my ankles, roughly pulling the bindings free, sending waves of pain into my swollen feet. That did not stop me from driving my heel into his crotch and the fool went down with a howl, then kicks rained down on me as his fellows jumped in.

My legs were kicked apart, my ankles pinned by strong hands, and one of them dropped to his knees and pulled up his tunic. I tried to head-butt him as he descended on me, but a foot pressed me down, grinding the left side of my face in the dirt as I felt myself violated, the men laughing as the one raping me spent himself in mere moments and another took his place.

I had stopped struggling and they took the bait. As a third man took me the foot lifted from my face and I waited, lying motionless as he worked himself into a frenzy. When I moved it was sudden and swift, twisting my aching ankles and wrapping my legs tightly about his waist. With all the strength left in my back I lifted myself up and lunged my face at his. His head snapped back to avoid my forehead, but my teeth sank into the side of his neck. He screamed and bucked in my grip, but I bit deep, my mouth suddenly filled with a gush of salty copper as his veins tore asunder and everything dissolved in flurry of feet and fists, my eyes blurred in red and black, my body jerking from the blows until a sudden strike to the small of my back made everything numb.

The world was pain and darkness, and I so desperately wanted to lie down, but something held me, pinning my arms above my head so that my feet only barely touched the ground. I was cold, so very, very cold and I felt rather than heard the moan of anguish escape from me. One eye would not open; the other offered only blurred grey ghosts. My wrists… they were afire with pain, and when I tried to move them white-hot agony lanced through them and down my arms to my shoulders and spine. I forced myself to focus, to try to sort out one pain from another.

My vision cleared slowly, the one eye I could open gazing up at two hands, my hands, crossed at the wrists with a long metal spike driven through them fastening me to a tree. I hung suspended, my body beginning to scream at me as the agonies of my wounds fought for my attention. I tried to move and I cried out as broken bones grated in my right leg.

Laughter drew my attention and I spied several of the men building a cage from poles they cut out of saplings. It was small, no more than four feet long and perhaps two feet square. When it was done three of them approached me and I tried to move, but my body was beyond obeying my will and I concentrated on keeping silent as two of the men secured my arms while the third struck at the spike impaling my wrists, finally wrenching it free. I collapsed into their grasp and they dragged me over to the cage and then shoved me inside head-first, lashing it closed. They flipped it over and attached a rope to one corner, using that to hoist the cage high up in the air, hanging me from a high tree limb. I lay curled around myself, unable to move, just trying to breathe through the waves of pain wracking my body.

That cage was my home for the next six days.

From my lofty position I watched as Rufus and six others left camp the following morning, armed with spears and nothing else. Once he was gone my cage was lowered and I was given some water by a man who simply seized a handful of my hair and yanked my head back, then poured water from a jug into my mouth, half drowning me. Then it was back up into the branches of the tree to hang for the rest of the day. If I should happen to doze off, there was always a man detailed to stick me in the leg or the side of my chest with the point of a spear to keep me awake. During the day there was nearly constant taunting, and the men would often sport at spinning the cage or striking me with a well-pitched stone while at night the insects would be out in force. Through it all I had not a morsel of food and barely enough water to sustain me.

My bones and some of the other wounds healed, but my hunger was like a flame after the first day, sapping my strength to the point I could hardly bring myself to move. The sixth day was the worst. Up until that time I had retained a semblance of rationality, but as dawn broke I could hear laughter in the wind rustling through the trees. I thought perhaps the demon Loghaz had finally returned to taunt me, but it was a different sound, seemingly more gleeful and malicious. I strained for it, desperate for even the mocker’s voice, but what came to me was cold and angry in a way the trickster could only dream of. It hungered for my flesh, promising in words I could only barely comprehend to tear the meat from my bones and consume me whole, to make an end of this foolish goddess. I could hear it singing to me through the trees, a song of avarice, destruction and appetites insatiable and horrifying even to one such as I. It overwhelmed my senses, making time itself seem to stumble to a halt.

I became vaguely aware of the commotion of Rufus returning, his men carrying two huge boar carcasses slung upon poles. It seemed as though I was floating freely above the scene, detached, warm and comfortable. I was dimly aware of the man below prodding at me, but I could no longer feel his spear point against my side. I looked down and saw a deep gash in my side, oozing thick blood, but I was numb to it, as if it were happening to somebody other than me. My gaze returned to Rufus, the world slowly contracting, and as my sight darkened all that filled my field of vision was this magnificent, arrogant man.

He seemed to glow a radiant light and I watched as he cast his eyes up at me. I could feel his gaze as a physical thing, touching me, almost caressing me. He shouted and a moment later the cage began to sway, settling towards the ground as my eyes finally succumbed to the aching weariness, closing and embracing the darkness.

Rough handling forced me back to awareness. The cage had been opened and I was being carried. The scent of raw male sweat filled my nostrils, a heady and intoxicating mixture of animal, leather, spice and smoke… and a taste, the taste of Rufus. I forced myself to focus on that taste, to hold to it as an anchor of awareness to keep the abyss from claiming me again. The scent of cooking meat set my belly afire with such a raging hunger that I nearly choked on my own spittle. I forced the hunger down, determined to keep some measure of my dignity even as my head spun madly.

Rufus set me down upon something soft and yielding, a bed of some kind, and then he spoke words in his savage tongue. A damp, cool cloth kissed my forehead and my eyes focused upon his darkly radiant, manly face.

“You have had a very difficult time of it, yes?” he asked tenderly. I simply stared at him and said nothing. My hand moved to my side where several deep, sticky gashes were torn in my flesh, wounds that would have healed had I been given food but which were now days old, oozing and hot, and then there was the newest gash, seeping my strength into the blanket I lay upon. His eyes shifted to them, and I saw genuine concern, then anger. I remained silent.

He turned away from me and then produced a leather bottle, uncorking it with his teeth. He brought it to my lips and I drank deeply, hardly noticing that it seemed to be water mixed with wine. I wretched, but managed to prevent myself from vomiting. As I did so he made soothing, comforting noises and continued to wipe my face with the cloth.

“You are hungry, pretty one,” he said. “Would you like some food?”

I looked upon him impassively, calculating his behavior. What he was attempting was pathetically obvious. I had seen slaves broken many times before and this was always the cleverest way: to make the new slave see you as a savior. Yet this felt almost like a dream and he was suffused with a fire of beauty. I stared at him, exhausted, and finally nodded silently. Let him play his game.

“I will have some lessons I must teach you,” he said, “for fate has made you mine. But I have told you I am not needlessly cruel and you should believe me”

At that moment another man entered the tent. He was older than Rufus, thinner, his head bald but for a thick fringe of white hair that spanned the back of his head from ear to ear. He was bearded, but his beard was neatly trimmed even as it fell nearly to his chest. His eyes were quite dark and piercing. He spoke and I saw an odd thing: the old man clearly deferred to Rufus, but at the same time Rufus deferred to him as well. Rufus called him “Marieko” and I recognized other words as well as I began to pick up the feel of their speech, words that seemed to mean “girl” and “hurt” and, perhaps, “heal.”

Rufus turned to me. “This man is skilled in treating wounds,” he said. “He shall tend you now.”

“Tend” is hardly the word I would have chosen for what followed. As Rufus left the tent, the old man did not deign to so much as speak to me. Instead he simply began prodding at my wounds. I felt the pain as a distant thing, almost as if it were not a part of me. Then he called out to men standing outside the tent and shortly thereafter two large warriors entered carrying a pot full of glowing coals with wooden handles. There were several long iron rods stuck in the coals. I understood instantly what he was about and I struggled to move, but the two warriors pinned me down and I was too weak to fight them. One after another the old man pressed the hot irons into my wounds as I gritted my teeth, refusing to scream. Once he was done the warriors took the pot and left the tent.

“I will enjoy watching you die, old man,” I rasped once I was able to speak again.

“You’ll need to live first, barbarian,” he laughed, the first words he had spoken to me, “and who taught you the language of the Greeks? You speak like a sailor’s whore.”

I spat dryly at him, but he did not react and merely stepped back to the opening of the tent. Then he said, “I am the slave of Secondus Talmudius Africanus Rufus, as are you. Be certain to obtain your master’s permission before attempting to carry out your threats.” With that he turned and left.

I heard myself growling, a low moan coming from my chest, whether with rage or fatigue I could not truly tell. My head began to feel light again and I let myself fall back onto the blankets where I had been placed, feeling the darkness creep inward again even as I heard someone approaching. Rufus entered, followed by a boy carrying a large tray of meat and bread, the sight and scent of which immediately snapped me back to full awareness as my side burned, my muscles screamed and my belly ached. The boy set the tray on a low table next to where I lay, then backed out of the tent while Rufus settled down opposite, reclining on his left side upon some cushions piled there. With his right hand he took one of the round loaves from the tray and tore off a piece, then gestured with it to me.

“As I have said, you will find I am not a cruel master unless I need to be, and for now you need food.”

I could not have refused to eat no matter how determined I might be. I attacked the feast laid before me as I looked back at him. A tender smile crossed his lips as he watched me. I suppressed my own smile because I knew the game he played. I planned to kill him as soon as I had the chance, but for now there was the food and the drink, and my head swam from the alcohol and exhaustion. I had a belly finally being filled after a week or more of running and fighting and then another week of torture and starvation. I could think of little but feeding.

There would be a time and a place to contemplate the destruction of this arrogant creature. As I ate greedily, involuntary animal noises escaping me between swallows, he spoke again.

“My men were cruel. They are greatly displeased with the way you murdered their comrades. They sought to punish you and I could not deny them. By all rights I should let them kill you. Now that this is all done I will see to it that they are kept from you… but only if you are cooperative. Defy me, and I shall return you to them.”

It was suddenly clear to me that Rufus had expected to return and find me dead. The past week had been some kind of test. He was watching me expectantly, but I said nothing. Let him read what he would in my silence. I continued to methodically dispatch the food and drink at hand.

After the tray was emptied and the bottle was spent, I sat back in exhaustion and watched listlessly as he produced iron shackles. As I looked mute daggers at him he very casually reached for my ankles and shackled them, then did the same to my wrists. I did not resist. I needed time to rest, to heal and to plan, but I plotted how painful I would make his death even as I silently allowed him to chain me. Then he arose to his feet and straightened his tunic.

“I shall see you again at sunset, my barbarian witch,” he said, and turned to leave.

My only reply was a glowering silence. I worked to keep my anger in place, but a slaked thirst, a full belly, and the ability to lie down and stretch worked their magic and hard slumber fell upon me like a hammer. Still, in my dreams I felt my arms closing around him, my hands squeezing, squeezing about his throat as I screamed in rage and sank my teeth into his face, tearing, making him howl with pain….

I did not awaken until the next morning, did not even recall Rufus returning although I am certain he did. Instead I awoke and found the old Greek, Marieko, bending over me. I lunged at him and looped my chains about his throat, squeezing with all my might. But I was still weak and he punched me several times in the head to make me fall away. He did not make so foolish a mistake as to allow himself into my grasp again. Still he examined me, with Rufus watching in the background. Both looked surprised but said nothing. From then on I was allowed to stay in the tent, my wrists and ankles joined by a short chain and staked to a metal pole driven deep into the ground.

Rufus fed me all my meals personally. I made no attempt to kill him, though that desire burned so fiercely in my heart. I was chained and still weak, though now I was healing quite well. I smiled at him, talked with him, let him believe his little trap for my soul was closing about me.

And throughout it all I could not escape the realization that he was beautiful, so incredibly beautiful it took my breath away, especially when he smiled. His brow came to just above the bridge of my nose, which seemed quite comical. Many of the Romans seemed short to my eyes, yet he was shorter than most of them. Most of the men he commanded, and most of the people he owned, were at least a little taller than he. Yet a fire burned within him that all could see, and there were times when Rufus seemed to tower over men a full head taller than he.

Most of the Romans were dark-skinned, he no exception. His skin was nearly as dark as the bark of an oak. His hair and his eyes were even darker; indeed both were as black as the blackest night, yet gleamed with a fiery intensity. His strong brow had an almost delicate veneer, with thin lashes that seemed like an angry stripe across his face. His nose was a bit large yet appealing and sat like a proud hawk’s beak over thick, slightly down turned lips.

His enormous head sat above shoulders as broad as a boar’s, his thick mane of black hair pulled back in a short tail. The knotted muscles flowing from his enormous neck led to arms more than twice the size of mine, yet so shapely and well defined I could almost point to each bulge and name it. The whole rest of his body—his chest, his waist, his thighs, his calves, were smooth and almost hairless like a woman’s body, but hard and knotted and manly in a fashion I found almost intoxicating. Even his feet astounded me. They were almost twice the size of my own, were shaped like the curve of a pear, yet were muscular and mannish and beautiful.

By the third day in his tent I was still weak, but both he and Marieko were amazed at how well my wounds had already healed. With plentiful sleep, and enough food and water to satisfy a small army of men, the wounds on my side had already begun to fade to mute scars, and my hands began to work properly again despite the wounds in my wrists. Finally I could breathe easily and I was fully alert to my surroundings. Still my ankles and wrists were bound closely together and I feigned infirmity, knowing at some point that perceived frailty might be crucial.

The fourth morning Marieko had looked upon my wounds once again, and suddenly looked upon me as if I were an unearthly thing. I laughed openly at him for he knew and I knew that he could see the truth, that I was no mere mortal like himself. I laughed at his chagrin, even as my wounds were already disappearing like the wisps of forgotten dreams. Rufus sent two boys to the tent with bowls and towels and they bathed me, an act I tolerated with ill grace, for I was certain I knew what was to follow. A choice was approaching.

Each night Rufus would come and take a meal with me. Each night I would look upon him with glowering animosity and fascination. Bit by bit I began to learn his language, but more importantly, I began to learn him. On the fourth night as he fed me again and looked at my fading wounds, he suddenly reached down, released the shackles upon my ankles, then fiercely grasped my left breast and kissed me.

Time to choose. It was not yet dark, but the gate to the palisade was closed and I doubted my ability to scale it. To kill him now would require a feat of strength, and I already knew my physical prowess was nothing compared to his. As I relaxed into his grasp, my mouth alive and eager under his, I reminded myself I had given my body to far less appetizing specimens of manhood.

Morning came and I awoke to find him already up and gone. The events of the night before were etched deep in my memory and my body tingled at the thought of them even as I steeled myself against his eventual return. He was a superb lover, as facile with a woman’s body as he was strong and swift in combat. That admission diminished my desire to see him broken not a whit, rather it strengthened it: such beauty of form and arrogance of character begged for destruction.

He entered the tent clad in his habitual short tunic, belted at the waist. He had the scent of fresh bathing and his hair was wet, but freshly combed, falling about his shoulders in a black, gleaming mane coated in oil. He looked down upon me where I lay chained and a look of decision set in his face. He produced the key he always carried with him and first unlocked my ankles, then freed my wrists.

I sprang into a crouch, eyeing him warily as he turned and reached out through the tent flap to seize up a wrapped bundle and then tossed it at my feet. I glanced down and saw my bow wrapped in a leather tunic along with sandals and my knife—the very one with which I had attempted to kill him. That day seemed an age ago though it had not been more than eleven days past. He smiled and cocked his head, gesturing to the bundle before me. He was perhaps the most magnificent thing I had ever seen, even at this moment of supreme arrogance.

He drew a deep breath into his huge chest, looked down at me and said, “So, barbarian witch. Would you like your freedom?” He paused, then turned toward the tent opening. “There it is,” he said, gesturing broadly. “Go on, take it. You want your release? Go, I offer you forgiveness for all your crimes against my men and me. I give you your freedom.”

I stared at him, seeking some hint that this was a lie, but there was nothing there but the ridiculous assumption that I would choose to remain here, his slave. It would have been ludicrous, but for the fact that I did hesitate.

Freedom or slavery? I could leave this place of my own free will, disappear into my forest certain in the knowledge that in a few short seasons this man, this Rufus, would be dust and whatever existence he had beyond life would be plagued with my laughter. It would mean allowing him to live, no small price for my freedom. It would mean allowing him to walk away from this desecration of my altar, my land and my body, believing he had won some victory over me. That was a bitter thing to contemplate—that he would die not knowing how wrong he was, how foolish and unworthy he was of even my contempt.

There were things I had learned from him, and from Marieko, intriguing stories of Rome and Rufus’s home in a place called Arretium. They had gods and goddesses of their own and a mighty City they spoke of, the descriptions of which made me laugh in disbelief yet sparked a burning curiosity. These men also had amazing order among themselves, such confidence in their own power and the inevitability of their triumphs. Most beguiling of all, I had seen Rufus scrawl some marks upon a scroll and speak just a few words to a brace of men, then within mere hours see his will done. It was a power he wielded with astonishing ease.

And I had been ignorant of my own people, the ones I called ‘mine’. They had a king, traded with far off places, temples of their own gods—I had been ignorant of all this, cocooned in my forest, toying with the odd hunter or straggler from time to time. My standing with them could have done naught but suffer after witnessing my capture and humiliation at the hands of these Romans.

I made my choice. I fetched the bundle and unwrapped it, pulling the simple leather tunic over my head and belting it about my waist, and then fetched up the proffered sandals, Roman sandals, like those Rufus wore. I took up my bow and my knife, moving with extraordinary care for I was boiling inside with rage and the hunger for his blood, but I knew the time and manner of his end had to be my choice, not his. I stepped towards the tent opening.

Rufus settled his large, powerful hand upon my shoulder. The touch was almost thrilling, a rush of energy suffusing me so greatly that he nearly died by my hand that very moment.

“We shall be here for another thirty days,” he said, “Perhaps we shall hunt together.”

I stared at him, my eyes wide in disbelief at his continued arrogance, but he was utterly serious. I could not bring myself to even speak, but my face could not have failed to express my utter contempt at that moment. Instead I snorted, just a brief, sharp exhalation from my nose, then I slipped free of his grasp and strode barefoot out into the camp.

A commotion erupted, several of the Roman men-at-arms scrambling to their feet, reaching for their swords. They stopped instantly as Rufus barked a command. They all stepped back, a look of astonished disbelief on their faces as I walked with my back straight and my head held high to the open gate. There I spied a familiar face, that weasel-looking man whom had taken such pleasure at my torment.

I stopped and stared into the weasel’s eyes, my face expressionless as a stone. Our gaze locked for a very long time until he shifted nervously, his hand fiddling with the hilt of his blade, and he finally looked away. I allowed myself the barest hint of a smile and then resumed my carefully measured exodus from the camp. I could feel myriad eyes burning into my back, but one pair above all others. I was shaking now, so violent were my emotions I could no longer fully contain them.

I reached the edge of the clearing and my will broke. I turned around, looking back to see Rufus standing in the opening of the gate, his massive arms folded across his chest. His face broke into a wide grin.

Suddenly it was too much to contain and I threw down my bow, my knife and the sandals Rufus had given me. I tore at the tunic, stripping it from my body, cleansing myself of all things Roman. My fists balled in rage I stared across the clearing at him and it erupted from me, unbidden and uncontrollable as I drew in a huge breath and screamed, my throat pouring forth such a sound I could taste blood in my mouth as it rose and rose as if I could never stop screaming until it had all poured from me. It ended with me shuddering with the violence thundering in my heart, my vision red and wavering as I finally gasped for breath.

I do not believe I had ever been so powerfully aroused in all my life.

With that I fetched up my bow and my knife and strode into the forest. Behind me I heard laughter, the laughter of Rufus.

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Methuselah’s Daughter: Part 4

Gods and Monsters

Chapter 25

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“Well,” I said, “That’s your prerogative. It’s in our contract. I guess I’d be disappointed though. Can I ask why? I didn’t mean to offend you, whatever it was I said.”

Her gaze wandered away, looking past me. She was quiet for a bit, her face impassive but a little sad. Then her green eyes snapped back to me with that almost alien look, like I was a different species. In a way I couldn’t put my finger on, she almost seemed inhuman. But then she pursed her lips, exhaled slowly and finally spoke.

“I am coming to understand that to do what I set out to do here may indeed be impossible. I was holding that understanding at arm’s length, pretending it wasn’t real, but then last week it finally came to me, full force and undeniable.”

“You got pretty mad. I’m still not sure what set you off like that, but whatever it was…”

“It was not merely you. It was Joshua as well. You both brought the reality of what I am facing to where I could no longer ignore how very weak my plans are. I thought… I hoped that just telling my story would be enough. That I would be able to let this out in careful bits and pieces, let it be dismissed as fantasy until time managed to provide the evidence. By then perhaps it would be easier for people to accept. The shock would be softened a bit. Perhaps my work with the Foundation would give me enough sympathetic friends to blunt any negative consequences… instead, what do I have? You urge me to turn myself over to doctors and scientists and hope some ephemeral construct of property law of all things might somehow stand as a shield between me and those who might wish to do me harm.”

“But Zsallia,” I said, “the idea here is to try to help you.”

“Hmm, yes, help me,” she said, skeptically. She paused, still looking at me, utterly without emotion. “Tell me my friend, do you crave immortality?” The way her eyes were fixed on me made me feel like a specimen under a microscope.

I gave another little start. “Um, well,” I thought. “I’m not sure.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I believe you do,” she said. “You all do.”

I opened my mouth, shut it and sat back. “I guess it depends on what you mean,” I said.

“Don’t banter with me.”

“Hey,” I said, getting irritated now, “You think I haven’t thought about it at all? I haven’t exactly slept right or eaten right since meeting you. I’ve been having stupid arguments with my wife, too, because I can’t really think what to tell her about you. I wouldn’t even believe you were real if I hadn’t seen you grow back that leg and then that arm. What the hell is with that anyway? You grow the leg, then the arm? Jesus, I mean, what the hell are you?”

“Precisely my point. Just what the hell am I? Who else will be asking just that question? Will they be people who see possibilities, or threats, or both? You and Joshua seem to operate from the assumption that once the truth comes out I will be believed, but what if those in power suspect I am lying?”

“It won’t matter if you have the research. Sure, things could get sticky, but you’d be dealing from a position of strength.”

She just kept looking at me, her eyes cavernous and unblinking. It was getting a little unnerving, but I just looked back at her and waited. Finally she spoke again.

“What is it you think you’ll learn from studying me, anyhow? If immortality is not the goal, then what?”

I looked at her, perplexed. It seemed like she was missing the completely obvious. Then I stood up and leaned toward her. She pulled her head back a bit but otherwise didn’t move as I tapped her left forearm. “That,” I said sharply, tapping it again, feeling the warm life in it. Then I sat back down. “Jesus, it creeps me out a little just thinking about it, but just a few months ago you had no freaking arm there, lady. Now I see you typing on your computer or putting on makeup with it. That’s just incredible.”

“It is part and parcel with the same phenomenon,” she said.

“Oh, I’m not so sure it is, but….” I paused, groping. “Well there’s only one sure way to find out, isn’t there?”

“So you believe I am obligated to do this.”

“I never said you were obligated to do anything.”

“No. You said I had no right to make decisions about what the human race was permitted to know; however, the one follows naturally from the other.” Her voice was calm, but her gaze was still hollow and accusing.

I paused, “Well now wait just a minute, you’re….” I stopped. I saw her point. “Okay, I said something along the lines of, it’s not up to you to decide what’s best for humanity…” I stopped then as a tight, grim smile appeared on her face and she nodded curtly. I suddenly realized that this was not an argument I could win even if I thought it was worth fighting. “All right,” I continued, “you’re right. I do think you’re obligated to let yourself be studied. With limits, and within reason. But I think people are obligated to do all kinds of things they don’t do. That doesn’t mean I run around pointing guns at them making them do it.”

The lizard-like stare softened suddenly, just a little, but she still seemed guarded. “You should realize that after our last meeting I very nearly changed my identity, left town and considered leaving to where none of you would ever find me again. Every day I have agonized over this. I very nearly did not call you again. I still don’t if we should even be having this conversation.”

“Okay, but…” my voice trailed off. “Well, you know what?” She looked at me quizzically. “If you ask me to, I’ll tear up all my notes, destroy our recordings, take the money you gave me and forget I ever knew you. I’ll never tell anyone about you, except maybe I’ll spin some stories for my grandkids, if I’m still around.”

She kept looking at me, quietly. Her eyes narrowed a bit.

“Okay,” I said, “So we could do all that and you could disappear. I think you’d be making a mistake, but you hired me to tell your story and that’s really all I’m here for. I’m not here to force anything on anyone. Hell, I don’t even like making my son clean his room. But I think there are better options where you could definitely help yourself, definitely be in a position of greater control than you’ve ever been in, and besides that, you could…” I stopped, not sure what to say. Then I remembered something. “Have you ever been on a burn ward?” I asked. I knew this was dangerous ground, but I couldn’t let it go.

“I’ve seen people burned,” she said evenly, her jaw set. “I’ve been burned.”

“Right now, while you and I are sitting here, there are children…”

She interrupted “That is enough. If you think I haven’t…”

“There are children,” I said, loudly, talking right over her, “five, six, seven years old, with half or more of the skin on their bodies charred black from burns. The pain is so agonizing they can’t give them any drugs for it because to give them enough to make a difference would kill them. A couple of times a day at least, nurses have to go to those kids and put them in a bath and take a wire brush and scrape that blacked skin off and do their best to help them grow more back. And they just have to listen to those kids scream, day in and day out, because if they don’t do it, those kids will die or have no chance of healing at all. It gets so intense that most doctors and nurses have to be rotated out of there on a regular basis. Even people who deal with death and suffering for a living can’t bear it for more than a few months at a time.”

Her jaw clenched and she stared at me. I saw anger in her eyes, a dangerous anger, but she didn’t say anything, so I kept going.

“Even if the kids do recover they sometimes look like monsters the rest of their lives,” I said. “When I was in High School, I knew this kid, track star, on the swim team, too, plus just a really nice guy, everybody loved him. Jumped in the pool wrong in the shallow end, cracked his head on the bottom, broke his neck. Nearly drowned, and later he told me he wished he had. Know why? Because he never moved below his neck again. Doctors told him he’d be eating through a tube and stuck in a wheelchair, no hands no legs, for the rest of his life. Couldn’t even scratch his own nose.”

“The world is a tragic place. Life is not for the faint of heart. I am unmoved by cheap appeals to emotion. What would you have me do? Do you think you can cut me open and find some magical potion to cure all of this?”

“I think,” I said, and stopped for a minute. “Okay, I think your body’s your own, but that unless you’re some magical fairy from another dimension, with a few vials of your blood, they could learn all kinds of stuff.”

She shot me a strange look. “My…. blood?”

“Sure, then they could examine your DNA and learn things. Or they might find chemicals in your bloodstream they could examine. Maybe some of both. Hell I don’t know, but it probably wouldn’t require anything more than that out of you.” I grinned. “What, are you afraid of needles?”

She gave a hollow chuckle. “Not precisely, it’s just the thought of…” She paused and shook her head, looking a little sad. “Never mind. What I am truly afraid of is what will happen if that isn’t good enough. What will happen if they learn too much, what might happen to mankind….”

“Why do you presume to decide for humanity what we should or shouldn’t know? I think you could help people. I think if you explain to people what you’re worried about, and they still want the knowledge, then you let them decide whether to use it. And you’d be doing it on your terms, rather than having them chase after you and try to force you.”

“It would seem that simple to you. Neither of us knows what such testing might reveal, or what truths might need to be embraced or rejected…” she said, her voice trailing off. She looked terribly tired all of a sudden and put her eyes into her left hand. “I have wreaked much havoc in the lives I have touched, even yours.”

I chewed on that for a minute, but I really couldn’t see it changing what I believed. “I do think I see what you’re saying. But…” I stopped, and thought. “You figure you’re a pretty good judge of character, right?”

“Better than you can imagine,” she said, evenly, lifting her eyes from her hand.

“Well,” I said, sitting back and looking her in the eye. “Look at me. Would I lock you in a prison or force you to do something you don’t want to do? Am I the kind of person who’d go along with other people who wanted to do that? Is your friend Joshua?”

She looked me in the eyes for a long moment before speaking.

“What if it were your son?”

“What?”

“The child screaming in the debridement bath. What if he were your son? Don’t answer. I know the question is unfair, but you are depending on everyone being selfless and civilized. I know humans, and everything I know of the nature of man and power tells me I should be afraid, and nothing you have said to me here serves to change that one whit.”

“Damn it, there is no way to make a point with you on this, is there? Dennis Novak was right.” She looked confused, and I smiled a bit at that. I’d gotten her. “Dennis said you don’t know how to deal with anything involving institutions, or the law, or bureaucracies. It’s always about individuals with you, isn’t it?”

“Dennis told you that?”

“Yeah, the day I met him in the hospital. He said it’s like you’ve got a mental block when it comes to anything more complex than your tight little circle of friends, or whatever buttons you can push when you’re face-to-face with a stranger.”

She looked surprised. “I suppose I’d never thought of it that way. But of what relevance…?”

“No matter how far up the ladder mankind has climbed, you still don’t trust the civilization we’ve created.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It is hardly so simple. Civilization is fragile and mankind hasn’t changed all that much in thirty-five centuries. Go to New York City and turn off the electricity for sixty days, then see what is left of your civilization there. The constraints are effective only to a point, and then it is the actions of individuals that tell the tale. The more people I am forced to trust outside of those I can see and know personally…” She trailed off, staring at the floor.

“The problem is the world’s big and complex and bureaucratic now, and more so all the time. Some ways that’s good, some bad, but it’s the way things are. So the idea that you can just hide out and push buttons on a few people…. It’s just not going to work, Princess. You can run and hide again, but where? You want to leave the United States and go hide in some Third World shit hole? Okay, but what if you were discovered there, what chance do you think you’d have? Can you imagine what some third-world dictator might do to you, versus what people here would do?”

She suddenly looked very small, just staring at the floor and for some reason I felt like a bully. But I went on: “Look, I just think you are going to get caught sooner or later and should have a strategy that has you in a position of strength,” I said. “And maybe you could do some good for mankind.”

“Or perhaps I would do a great deal of harm, with no control at all,” she said, her voice quiet, nearly a whisper.

“It’s your call, Princess,” I said. “It’s your choice. You don’t have to decide now. I’m not going to browbeat you. I’ve said my piece.” I paused. “I thought I was helping you figure out a good strategy, but I guess that’s not my job. You’re going to do whatever you’re going to do.”

Hey eyes continued to stare at the floor. Then slowly she looked up at me, her eyes betraying a look of weariness and anguish so deep I was stunned.

“I do not know what I am going do,” she said, and the rasp in her voice expressed such a conflicted mess of emotions I didn’t know what to say. It was clear she was in some pain, a pain I had no way to understand. So I just cleared my voice.

“That scares the hell out of you, doesn’t it? Not knowing, I mean.”

She just stared at me. Then her head gave a short nod. “Yes. You are not the only one who has had restless nights my friend.”

“So… am I fired?”

“No,” she smiled at me, thinly. “Not yet.” Then she looked to her right and stared into space again.

“Good, I think,” I said. “So what changed your mind?”

Her huge green eyes, storm-filled and relentless until now, turned back to me and finally the storm seemed to break: she looked human again. “You were honest with me.” She said it almost like a benediction. “I can still trust you.” It sounded like a judge handing down a sentence, but she was looking at me like I was a person again. I smiled and felt awkwardly relieved.

“Good,” I said, “because we haven’t gotten anywhere on this damned book in the past few weeks. Why don’t we get back to work?”

“Did you bring the recorder?”

“Yep,” I said, pulling it out. “So what was it like, back in ancient Rome? I was always fascinated by it when I was a kid.”

Her face turned mordant. “It was beautiful,” she said. “Beautiful and terrible.”

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He was certainly as beautiful as any God. I watched one night when the chase had ground to a halt, the men exhausted, the dogs spent and confused by the pungent herbs and animal scat I had strewn about. I watched as he set aside his armor and his tunic and spent hours at pleasure with a young man who had been by his side throughout this long contest. He had marched no less than his men, and had had no more of food or rest or comfort, yet his appetites were strong and he did not stint in sating them.

The seventh morning found me skirting the ridge of the western side of the river valley. These were lands only familiar from long, long years ago and as the wide arc of hunters drove me further and further north I came to realize I would be driven from my lands, away from those people I called mine and everything that had become familiar and comforting. Rage seethed in me, but there was little I could do—my bow was lost days ago and my bag of tricks emptied. Rufus would not be dissuaded or eluded and even as I tasted the bitterness of those traitorous thoughts I felt a weariness setting in. The sun was not even half way along its journey across the sky and I was feeling spent.

This was hopeless.

Exhausted, I stumbled toward a great old tree that marked the westernmost border of my territory, of my divine sphere and home. The tree had marked this edge of it for as long as I had lived here. It would take six men clasping hands in a circle to surround it, and its gnarled, twisted branches held many crevices and even a water hole in a crevice about five arm lengths above. It was the thickest, most twisted, least handsome, yet most beautiful tree in my realm, and always had it guarded this border for me. I felt a kinship with it, for it had been here as long as I could remember, as long as even I myself had been here, and though it had grown and changed in all that time it still remained the same.

I suddenly realized I had not walked past it since I had left the company of mortals and began realizing my divine nature. I also understood I was unwilling to walk past it—not to be driven past it, in any case. Instead, I patted the rough bark on its side and put my head down, feeling the weight of exhaustion. I listened to their approach and resolved that if they were to capture me, I would kill as many as possible first. And what then? They could not kill me, this I knew, but what abuses would be forced upon my body? And what would it matter?

The wind shifted and interrupted my reverie. I could hear them again, my nose tasting the scent of the oil on their weapons, their sweat and exhaustion on the air. There were at least five of them and they were close, weary from a long night of searching, excited that their prey was in sight. Raising my head and turning toward them I drew my knife, then hesitated as I saw him: Rufus himself was staring at me from amidst his band of men, leading this party personally.

Holding my knife, I gazed levelly at him. He stopped, holding up his hand and returned my gaze. He spoke in those clipped words of his people and his men spread out to encircle me. One sounded a horn and others responded. They would rush to this spot to behold their prey, hoping to witness her destruction.

A smile came to my lips as I realized I had been a fool. No wonder the gods had abandoned me: I had failed to see the most simple, most direct avenue of escape. I dropped my belongings, just a belt and a small bag, and then moved five paces towards Rufus who remained motionless, his face as a stone visage gazing upon me. With deliberate scorn on my face and in my pose, I dragged my bare foot through the soft loam, scratching a line in the earth and then stepping back, prepared to defend myself.

Rufus spoke and several of his men laughed. Their mirth angered me and as I took in the scene I realized that Rufus was calmly stripping off his armor. He would take me down himself. I ached to taunt him, but did he know my tongue? His words were foreign to me.

“Gweme leudhe dewale en dhautun geuse par minaiz?n handiw?n,” I hissed in the old tongue, Come little Godling, and taste death from my hands, but there was no comprehension in his face. I tried again in the words of the seafaring peoples and this time he clearly understood me. His face darkened slightly, but then he laughed.

“You are rather tall, but too thin, and there is the stink of fear about you.” He finished stripping down to his tunic and drew a long, slim knife from his belt on the ground before stepping up to the line I had drawn in the earth. “Drop your weapon.”

It was a command, not a request. What a magnificent creature he was, his body so firm and muscular, yet moving with such supple grace and quickness it made me feel weak just to behold him. How could I think to stand against this?

He stepped across the line and I lunged forward, throwing my left leg out in a wide arc, sweeping low to take his feet out from under him. He dodged like a cat, but my right leg swept in the reverse and he fell with a sharp exhalation of breath, his arms rising only barely in time to catch me as I fell on him, my knife seeking his throat. I had the advantage, but only for that brief moment and I surged against him… then his strength overwhelmed me, throwing me easily off and away. I spun and regained my feet, turning to ward off his attack, but it did not come. He stood warily, grinning at me, but a line of blood welled from his right arm where my blade had kissed him.

“That was nicely done,” he said, grinning.

His words threatened to enrage me and I forced myself to step back, circling him as I waited. I could see the tension in him, the shifting of his face and his stance, betraying his moves a precious moment before he made them and as he lunged inward I slipped low and drove the knife against his ribs. He twisted, my blade raking against him rather than sinking home, leaving a bloody rent in the skin as he sought to entrap me with his left arm. That was the deadly embrace I had to avoid at all costs. I had felt his strength and I knew myself unequal to it.

Twice more we closed and each time I managed to touch him, but no more. Still, minor as they were, his wounds angered him and I laughed at him, taunting him wordlessly. I needed his rage, needed him intent upon murder rather than capture. This was my only hope.

As we closed yet again I sought to brush against him, slipping in and out of his grasp, but either a slip of footing, or perhaps a tremor of fatigue, slowed me just enough that his left fist closed about my right forearm, bringing me to a sudden halt. We stood there, frozen in that moment, faces so close I could taste his breath, and I saw triumph in his eyes.

I surged forward, driving my forehead against his face, but he slipped the blow, then pulled my arm high, twisting it behind my back as he pulled me close against him. His fist clenched hard as I struggled in his grasp and my heart sank as he dropped his knife. My knee surged upward, striking him hard in the groin and he shuddered, but if anything his grip tightened, my right hand going numb as he stripped the knife from my grasp. Desperate I sank my teeth into his neck, but he had both my wrists trapped in his left hand now and with his right he took me by the throat, closing my windpipe, peeling my mouth from his neck and forcing me to my knees. I tried to kick him again, but my body just trembled, refusing to obey my will as my lungs screamed for air and the world shrank into a dwindling tunnel of darkness and pain.

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