OLD LOVE

The old man brushed a few dried leaves from the small stone slab in front of the inn and leaned on his broom. His right arm hurt, it did every morning, as he brushed his long white hair out of his still clear blue eyes and looked down to the harbor. The shadow of the cliff on which his village sat still blackened the waters -- the azure would not return until almost noon -- but he noticed that among the small fishing vessels a larger ship had made port. He would be ready for the new guests today.

It would be almost an hour before any future guests would make it up the cliffs to the village, so he had time for his morning exercises. He climbed the small hill that overlooked the entire island and in the early morning sun did a few stretching moves. The ritual had been a part of the beginning of his day since as a very young man he learned it from a visiting master of eastern fighting. Even though he hadn't fought in years, he still worked to keep his body -- except for the stiff and crooked right arm and a few scars -- that of a younger man. Perhaps the exercises also helped with the scars he carried in his mind.

Then for just a few minutes, he would sit and watch the harbor. The beautiful crescent with its small black and white islands belied the violence that was said to have created it. That was long ago when the Gods were young and vicious. He didn't think about the Gods much anymore. The ones of his youth were gone; Xena had killed them. His mind got tired trying to sort through the Roman Gods, most of whom seemed only to sport recycled names. After his experience with Dahak he never trusted those who talked of "one true god." He spoke to a higher spirit, which he also personally knew existed, not so much in praise, but out of respect.

Walking back to the village, he thought briefly of his friends who seemed as far away as the Gods. He knew that what he looked for each morning was a ship which would return one of his friends and/or lovers to him, and he wasn't even particular as to which one it would be. But after over twenty years, he began to think that this might be the idle hope of an old man.

The young people who worked with him at his inn were already scurrying around preparing for the influx of travelers. The place looked warm and inviting as he walked down the hill. He stopped by the front door and reached up and wiped a spider web from the sign that identified it as his establishment. It was a carved slab of wood sporting the crescent of the harbor with a beam of light pointing to its very spot. Under it was the name "Michael's". It was his inn, although not his name.

Years ago an oracle had told him he would live to be over one hundred years old and die surrounded by family and friends. Although he was not sure of his exact age, he was certain he was now at least sixty: one of the oldest men in the village. Except for a wife and two children who had died almost forty years ago, he had no family, and none of the people he now counted as friends knew him as other than Michael the innkeeper.

He had never dared tell his true story. For almost twenty years, starting when he was just a teenager, he had been the best friend and traveling companion of a demi-god, the son of Zeus, the legendary Hercules. He had attended the Academy with Jason King of Corinth and sailed with the Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece. Traveling the world he had fought warlords, monsters, demons and gods. Many of these stories remained standard tavern tales, so he had chosen to not use his name from those times, Iolaus.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The young warrior woman looked at the donkeys clustered at the base of the cliff and swore under her breath. That was the final indignity. She had traveled from the end of the earth on more methods of transportation than she cared to remember and now she was going to go up that cliff on a donkey. She hated these stubborn smelly creatures; but the path was steep and covered with manure, so she had no other choice if she wanted travel up to the village of small white houses with blue shutters.

She adjusted the large travel pack she carried with her on the donkey and carefully climbed upon its back. If things went the way she had planned, she would be spending the next year on this island and making the final arrangements necessary for her to live the rest of her life. She spoke again in a voice not meant to be heard outside her own head, "Well friend, we have to go see a man about a baby."

* * * *

He caught just a glimpse of a woman warrior with hair brighter than the summer sun dismounting the donkey. He laughed at the image that she had conjured in his mind. It was of a young girl with long strawberry blonde hair nursing his injury and telling him stories. He thought about the softness of her smile and the intensity with which she faced the challenges of life. Whoever this new woman was, she rekindled pleasant memories of his youth. He hoped that she would choose to stay for a while in his inn.

One of his young handsome employees went out to help her with her pack and to offer her a cool glass of cistern water. She glanced up at the sign by the door, thought for a second and then smiled. It was definitely a smile of recognition, but it carried a hint of sadness and more than a hint of concern. "No, it couldn't be," he thought, "the woman he knew would have been at least fifty by now. Perhaps this was her daughter?"

The thought of Gabrielle's daughter unlocked demons from in his mind that he would normally choose not to deal with on a lovely spring day. The demons were always there, just under the surface; but most of the time he managed, by thinking of himself as just Michael, to keep them buried in the sunshine. Through his shirt, he touched the scar on his chest, shook his head "no" and walked inside to wipe off the bar. He certainly did not want to have to relive the story of Gabrielle's daughter.

Although the warrior took a room in the inn, she did not come to the common room until time for the evening meal. She had changed from her leathers into a soft beige tunic. He watched her sit at a table, drink her wine and pick at some bread, goat cheese and olives. Whenever he turned his head, he was certain he felt her looking his way. "An even sillier delusion of an old man", he thought, that a beautiful, young woman would be looking at him."

Then one time neither of them was fast enough. Eyes met. She smiled. He paused. He smiled. She rose from the table and walked over to the bar.

"If you need another glass of wine, the waiter would have brought it to you."

"No, no wine, but thank you. I just have something to give to you."

"Give to me?"

"You are Michael, the owner of this place, right?"

He nodded his head, although he knew she knew he was lying.

" This morning when I checked in, the young man told me you didn't allow weapons in your establishment."

Yes, that was the rule. It seemed to have worked well over the years, although it seemed ironic that a man, who had been in more fights than anyone here could imagine or he could even remember, would have implemented such a rule. His inn and the tavern had always been a peaceful place where both community and traveler could meet.

"Well, when I unpacked my bag, I remembered I had this. I guess I should check it with you." She smiled and reached in a side slit of her tunic and removed a metal circular weapon and placed it on the bar. She couldn't remove her hand fast enough to keep it from being covered with his.

"Can someone take over for me," he almost yelled. "And bring a jug of the finest wine to my room." His eyes had never left hers. "We have to talk."

* * * * *
As soon as they were safely though the door to his private quarters, she grabbed him with a full body hug. The strong muscular woman's embrace made the old man's knees buckle under him.

"They were right. It really was you. I cannot believe it. It's been almost forever," she said breathlessly.

"Gabrielle? But you are so .. so .. young."

"It's a long story, I will tell you all of it later, but for now just hold me."

It had been a long time since he had held a woman whose arms had not been purchased by dinars. Because the lives of fishermen were short; there were many widows on the island; but when his mind compared them to the women of his youth, his body did not respond. At the same time, a small quiet voice within told him that the young women feigned interest with their flashing black eyes, could not possibly be interested in an old man. It made for a lonely existence.

He ran his hand through her short blonde hair. Tilting her head upward slightly, he kissed her lips. It was a kiss of warmth and friendship with a woman, who despite her youthful appearance, he hadn't seen in almost thirty years.

There existed a scenario, she thought, in which the kiss could be the start of a continuation that would bring about the result she sought with no further explanation. There would no need to retell the stories that she knew would bring both of them pain, but it wouldn't be fair. Iolaus needed to know. He had to agree to the plan that might change both of their lives. She broke off the kiss.

"We need to talk. I didn't come to this island by accident or for a vacation. I came to find you.

His room was small and sparsely furnished. Since he usually dined in the tavern, he did not even have a chair. They had to sit on his narrow bed. He took her hand in his and continued rubbing her fingers as she talked.

"The first news I must tell you, though it is most unpleasant, is that Xena is dead."

The fact that she had been traveling alone had caused him to expect that news, but hearing the actual words was still a shock. He dropped his head to her shoulder. She continued to talk. "She died almost two years ago on an island almost to the end of the earth. I still don't understand it. I talk to her every night about it, or at least I talk to her ashes I carry with me."

"Did she die a hero?" That to him seemed more important than how she died.

"I'm not even sure of that. She had some idea that she was doing something good for people. People I never knew, people she never knew. I still believe that a witch tricked her, but she doesn't want me to say that. I just have stopped trying to understand.

"Eve, Xena's daughter, is fine. She is married to Joxer and Meg's son Virgil and they live in Chin. They have three children, maybe more by now, and live a life of peace. They are followers of Eli."

It was a shock to hear all those names from his far distant past again. He hadn't even thought about most of them for years. He had heard from Hercules that Xena had given birth to a daughter. Joxer and Meg he remembered as only comic characters from earlier times. It was only the name of Eli that brought any emotion. Having a marked distrust for all organized religion, gods and prophets, he had always felt that Eli had taken Xena and Gabrielle down a path that had eventually taken away his best friend. He knew Gabrielle and Xena had trusted Eli, but he couldn't. But then religion was a very, very personal thing.

"It's been a long time" He began to tell his story. I've been here for over twenty years. Living as Michael, the innkeeper. It's a wonderful island. As peaceful as it is beautiful. It's amazing. Some people say it might be Atlantis, but I know that isn't true. But it does have very fertile soil, beautiful black sand beaches, and even rocks that float on the water." He continued even though he was quite certain she had not come here to learn about the finer points of his adopted world.

"I know you want to ask about Hercules, but quite frankly, I don't know." He moved back to a topic that related to both their lives. "After he came back, what was it thirty years ago, right after Xena had her baby, his heart was like ice and his anger like fire. I just didn't know what to do.

"He never handled rage well." It seemed such a stupid statement after it had left his lips, but he continued. "Then he learned you both were dead. It was too much for him. He said he had to go away, somewhere, not sure where, to figure it all out and stop the pain. When he was done, he said he would come and find me. I don't know, maybe he went searching for other gods, other challenges, or maybe he died. I just don't know.

"I waited a while, and then I decided I had to go on my own. My arm was getting sore whenever the weather changed." he said glancing down at his right arm, "and I was too old to learn to use a sword with my left hand. I decided my warrior days were over. Eventually, I came here. Even though I seldom hear Iolaus mentioned in Hercules stories, I changed my name so people wouldn't know who I was, but created a sign that my friends would immediately recognize. But you are the first one who ever came."

"As if people wouldn't recognize your hair, your eyes, or your smile." She ran her hand through his hair and laughed. From all appearances she seemed to be flirting with him.

"On an old, old man? As you can see, I am no longer the 'Golden Hunter." You said you came to find me. Do you need something? How can I help?"

"Well, I guess there is no easy way to ask you this, so I will just do it. On the way back to Greece, I had a lot of time to think. I've decided to go live with the Amazons, not as the Queen, but as just one of the sisters. I think I will be very happy there, but there is one more thing I need. One thing Xena knew I always wanted for myself. I want to have a daughter, and I want you to be my daughter's father."

"A daughter. But I am a very old man, far too old to be a father. And, I know you look great, but how old are you?"

"That is very difficult to calculate. You see Xena and I were frozen in a cave by Ares for 25 years. When we unthawed -- sounds crazy doesn't it -- we didn't seem to have aged at all. We didn't spend much time in Greece. We went to Rome, Africa, and then back to the East. I honestly don't know how old I am, but I have no reason to believe that I can't become a mother."

"Then surely you have enough time to fine a young man to be your husband."

"First of all I am not looking for a husband. I want to join the Amazons, not care for some man's house and cook his meals. Just not me! Second, well, I don't do that 'man thing' too much anymore. At the end it was Xena and me. You understand."

He nodded.

"What I do want is a baby whose father is someone I love, admire and respect. I can't think of a better person than you. And, it won't hurt that she will have curly blonde hair too." She laughed.

They put the plan into action that very night. Basically all he had to do was lie back and let her do what she wanted with his body. She had the most beautiful, hard, muscular body and used stealth to prepare him to give and quickly take what she wanted. Other than harlots few women had such adroitness when it came to sex, but she wasn't like a harlot, she was more like . . . It made sense; Gabrielle had been the star pupil of the best teacher. She was like Xena.

* * *

On this gentle island, seasons were measured more by the planting and harvesting of crops or comings and goings of the rain, than by changes in temperature; but he knew by her looks that the time when Gabrielle's daughter was to be born was fast approaching. When she had told him she was pregnant, she moved out of his inn and rented a small villa. For while he did not see her, though he missed her terribly. Sometimes she came to the inn for dinner and they would share whispered stories about old friends and how much they both missed them.

Always the bard, she now wrote voraciously. It was said that sheep and goats on the island lived in fear of the day she would run out of parchment. She wrote of his journeys with Hercules and her travels with Xena. There were many adventures to be recorded, sealed in jars, placed on a mule cart, and taken to caves high in the hills. He wanted to help, but instead sent one of his employees. Insisting that she could unload the jars herself, she made sure no one knew their hiding place.

He knew her weeks on the island, before she would leave with the baby and went to join the Amazons, were growing fewer in number. The birth of the baby, that she would name Xena, would mark the beginning of the end. To close the mouths of local gossips, he had told people that her lover had died just before she came to the island, already pregnant. Fortunately most of the people on the island did not count well, and she and her daughter would be gone long before the baby's blonde curly hair would reveal the identity of her father.

* * * * *

One day when he walked up to the villa to see how she was doing, he found Gabrielle nursing a tiny, bald version of himself. She had named the baby Solan, after Xena's son who had been tragically killed so young.

She had explained that she did not want to take a son to live in the land of the Amazons. The males that lived there were treated like second class citizens; and as much as she would like to make her sisters understand, her days of trying to change their ways had long past.

He told her of a time when Amazons would replenish their numbers by convincing local women, whose husbands had treated them badly, to come with them and leave their sons with the men. To obtain daughters they would attack men in the night and take their seed. It was Hercules who explained to the men and woman that they need not live as enemies and showed them how to bridge the gap between them. Gabrielle wrote down every word. He left out the fact that he was "inconveniently dead" during this time, killed by an Amazon Queen. She was not the only one who did not want to have a son living with the Amazons.

When a daughter finally was born, she would leave Solan with his father, the way Xena had left her son. Despite his protests that he was far too old to look after a young boy, she said that she knew of two young widows in the village who were already helping her with child care and most certainly would continue to help him. All he needed to do was supply the love, and teach him a few "Old Hunter's Tricks."

She began her quest for a daughter almost immediately. Raising a daughter was so very important to her.

Yet some nights he would walk home from her place whistling softly with the feeling that he had been given more than she had taken. Those nights, despite her professed lack of interest in what she had called the "man thing", Gabrielle had not just taken his seed; she had given him total pleasure. He began to feel young again

* * *

He remembered the morning the old village midwife had stopped by his tavern to tell him that Gabrielle had just delivered a second son. She had named him Horace after her father. When he asked her why she had come all the way to the tavern to tell him the news, she had laughed and commented that he was Gabrielle's "best friend."

Maybe that was what they were becoming. Both of them loved to talk and tell stories. Both of them loved to laugh. They had both lived lives which some might look upon as filled with tragedy, yet there was so much more. They had memories of adventures in far away places. They had been there for some of the greatest moments in the history of Greece. They had many, many friends from common people to kings and queens. They had even known Gods.

It was amazing how quickly he realized that babies had not changed much in forty years. He could not wait for the time he could take them on walks around the island, show them the harbor, the caves, the floating rocks, let them chase rabbits and small birds or teach them to fish. The anticipation was only slightly dampened by the fact that by then their mother would probably be gone.

* * * *

"She was probably the most amazing woman I have ever known. " He was filling Gabrielle in on the story of Nebula. They sat by a fire, the children asleep, and talked before the nightly coupling. Gabrielle liked to hear his adventure stories. "She was a pirate, a warrior and a queen, strong and beautiful. But more than that, she had this way that is very difficult to describe." Nebula was not a person he remembered of in words, but rather touches, smells, sounds, and tastes. "From the first time I met her she saw right into me and seemed to taunt my very soul. She would call me funny names, grab me on the butt, and sometimes even tie me up. She would take charge in our sex, but it didn't make me less of a man, it made me feel stronger. I can't explain it. I loved her. I died for her."

"Well if you hadn't died, it sounds like she might have killed you." It was supposed to be funny when she said it, but it didn't come off as such.

"Is that who you look for everyday on the hill? I had always thought you were looking for Hercules." she continued.

"Yes, maybe, or maybe both. Sometimes I think of other lovers, I had a lot you know, but they are the only two I ever thought would come."

"I came," she said, interrupting his divulgence.

He didn't respond, but continued, "I like spending time with my memories."

"Sometimes I think you spend too much time with your memories." She looked into his eyes.

"But without my memories, you wouldn't have things to write on your scrolls. And sometimes I think you spend too much time with your scrolls."

It was amazing how quickly his eyes could light up with mirth. She threw her pen at him and laughed. He jumped up, quickly for an old man, and began to chase her around the house as if they were small children. He was able to subdue her and throw her on the bed. The laughing blended into gentle love making, and that night for the first time, he felt like the sex was not with Xena but with Gabrielle. What he did not know was that she was thinking the exact same thing about him. They definitely had something in common.

He hoped that was the night they had made the baby. It would be a delightful daughter conceived in laughter. She agreed that it had to be the night, and also insisted that, just in case she was mistaken about being pregnant, they should continue trying. He did not object.

* * * *

"I want you to be here when the baby is born." She told him one night.

"No midwife will let me in with you. It just isn't done."

"Well, just be here, in my house. You can find ways to make yourself useful. Boil water. Take care of the boys."

"Pace a lot. Bite my fingernails."

"You don't bite your fingernails."

"I might start. Why do they boil the water anyway?"

"Think it is to give the father something to do. But really, I want you to be here when my daughter is born. I want you to be a part of her life, at least for a while."

"A while. I'll think about it." He walked away silently.

* * * *

That night he used the boiling water to make a drink, bitter with herbs and sweet with honey, that the midwife took to Gabrielle to ease her pain. He drank a couple of cups himself, and saved the rest of the water to bathe the baby when she was born. Except she was another he. He had bright red hair, even brighter than that of his mother when she was young, and flashing green eyes.

She had named the child Jaxon. It was an odd name that she claimed she had made up by combining Jason with Joxer. It was her way of honoring two men, both who had names too readily recognizable. Michael, who had long hidden from a recognizable name, understood completely.

Solan was soon old enough to spend most of his time following Michael around the village. He would sit in the window every morning and watch for the old man to come up the path on his daily walk. Toddling along behind he would climb up the hill, imitate his stretching exercise, throw a few mock punches, and sit and watch the boats come in the harbor. He loved to listen to stories. He would come back with a head full of wonderful mythological character that seemed so very real.

After Jaxon's birth, Gabrielle seemed less frantic to have a daughter and move on with her life. Her body was tired from three quick pregnancies and caring for the small children. She continued to write, but the scrolls she produced were not hidden in caves. She wrote funny fables about animals that Michael would read to the children at bedtime. Neighborhood children would stop by in the afternoon and she would read to them, or help them write and read their own stories. She even helped local women write stories to read to their children.

Most nights now he did not bother to return to the small room in the inn. He began to feel a part of a family. Sex, when it came, was a mutual sharing of pleasure. Sometimes it would end in an act that would definitely not produce a baby, but left both of them so giddy and spent that they didn't care. He was quite certain that none of the loves of his youth could match this "old love" he now had for Gabrielle and his family.

"How's your witch's brew?" She had asked innocently one afternoon when Jaxon was almost two.

"Witch's brew?"

"You know, to make that sickening drink you gave me when the baby was born."

"You got cramps? I'll make you some right away."

"No, silly, I'm pregnant again."

"You're what! But we didn't try to make a baby."

"Sometimes, Iolaus, it just happens. And I have heard that there is a new midwife in the village who will let you be in the room with me. You can hold my hand like I held Xena's when she had Eve, or she held mine. . "

"No, Gab." He broke in.

"I though you would want to be there."

"No, not that, of course I will be with you when you have the baby. I just don't want to talk about the daughter you had with Xena. There are still some things I just can't face."

* * * *

Even though she had drunk four cups of his famous herbal tea, she screamed long and hard. He held her hand tightly and teased her that maybe this time she was going to give birth to a hydra or even a centaur. But it wasn't, it was just a huge baby boy with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes.

"As the Gods have seen fit to never grant me a daughter. I am going to name this baby what I should have called our first son. I am going to call him Iolaus."

"Iolaus?" commented the midwife, "Didn't he travel with the demi-god Hercules and die to keep Dahak from coming into the world?"

He reached over and patted the midwife on the shoulder as she finished cleaning the baby. "Yes, he was, and yes, he did."

* * * * * * *

It had been almost ten years since she had come to the island. Although he knew he had to be at least seventy years old, but he felt younger than ever. Both locals and visitors to the island would look in amazement when the old man with the much younger woman and four children walked down the street. Women, who had virtually ignored him during the years before Gabrielle came to the island, would pass by and wonder how they could have missed this man, who in addition to being such a good father was strong and handsome. A few would mutter that if that Gabrielle woman didn't want to marry him, they certainly would.

He loved his sons and their mother with all his heart, and almost never thought about the fact that she was not really his wife and that she might leave him one day. She had long since ceased to dress as a warrior, and her hair had grown longer and darkened so that a few strands of gray were noticeable when he brushed it for her. He would tease her that soon she would be as the same shade of blonde that he was. They had all moved to a larger house a bit further up the hill, so the morning walk was shorter, but consisted of a larger group of participants.

"I think we need to get to work with some planning." She said with a smile, one morning on his return.

"Planning for what."

"We are going to have to plan a big party, and soon."

"Party, soon? Why?"

"Well," soft glow in her eyes, "I'm pregnant again, and this time I want to be married when the baby is born. Such a fool I have been to think of my family as a group of wild women running around in the forest. My family, all I ever wanted in life, my children, my memories, my best -- well second best anyway -- friend are all here. I want my husband here too."

He held her so tight his arms ached when he let go. Wagging tongues be darned, he had a wedding to plan.

***

"I can't believe it, it is a girl" he said when the midwife took the screaming blond baby from his hands and held her up by the ankles. He had insisted that he "catch" this child when she was born. The midwife was hesitant at first, but he had persisted and won.

"Finally, we have our baby Xena." He said to Gabrielle, who he was afraid had drunk one too many cup of herbal broth. "She is beautiful. Just like you."

"I've been thinkin'." She sounded more than a little drugged. " I don't think I could ever get used to a little blond girl named Xena. There is another name I have always liked. I think we should name her . . .

For the shortest of instants, he lived in fear that she was going to say the word "Hope."

"Aphrodite. Don't you think she looks just like Aphrodite."

A smile came to his face, and an old demon flew out the window and withered in the blinding sunlight.

"Aphrodite," said the midwife, "Wasn't she the Greek goddess of love? Your wife thinks of the most unusual names."

* * *

Somewhere, someplace in a temple in a cave high on a mountain, a place where mortal men had forgotten long ago, a blonde goddess was watching. She had been pacing back and forth all morning waiting for the baby to be delivered. Her brother sat beside her in a huge black leather chair, but she noticed he averted his eyes when he saw the baby coming and didn't watch as it slipped into the old man's hands. When she heard the name, she jumped up and pumped her fist into the air."

"Way to go Girlfriend!"

She looked at the man beside the bed holding her tiny namesake -- the man she saw as a handsome, blond, young warrior wearing a silly smile, an even sillier purple vest, and tight black leather pants, and added "and you too Sweet Cheeks."

Her brother scowled, snarled, and muttered "Still think they should have called her Xena."

* * *

The island of Thera, where the family lived, became a popular holiday destination for those who wished to escape the frantic life on the mainland. Couples seeking children, or just a renewal of pleasure in their relationship, often visited the one remaining temple of Aphrodite in all of Greece. Inns and taverns were always crowded and the mules always busy.

Solan, who as a child had been fascinated by the story of the man who took his cousin's place as the king of Attica, had become the village leader. He helped make sure that while everyone paid a fair share to maintain roads, the donkey path, the water supply and the schools, no one thought the taxes were a burden. In fact a large portion of these expenses came from a tax he imposed on the beds in the inns. Travelers would gladly pay an extra dinar or two to visit this lovely place.

Horace, from the time he was tall enough to see over the counter, worked in the inn. He was a chef and did wonderful things with the fresh fish pulled from the local waters. Eventually he convinced his father to remove the faded old "Michael's" sign and replace it with one he knew the tourists wanted to see. It read "Hotel Atlantis."

Jaxon was a writer like his mother, but, additionally, often performed in the tavern entertaining visitors with the tales he had heard from both parents all his life. With an embellishment here and there, he made sure that people did not leave Thera without learning of Xena: Warrior Princess and the legendary journeys of Hercules.

Aphrodite was a beautiful young woman, waiting for the right young man to come and steal her heart. She made fine jewelry from gold and silver wires to sell to the tourists. Those who had only known her father as an innkeeper had no idea that once he too had toiled at a forge and made fine metal tools and weapons. It was a secret that she alone shared with her father.

Iolaus was not there. He had decided go to the mainland, become a warrior and attend the Academy. After finishing his schooling, he took off with a friend to travel the world. The villagers were amazed that both his father and mother had been so understanding of this need for adventure.

* * *

A crowd of people, mostly children, was waiting for the ship's passengers as they reached the village on donkeys. One man, far too large to impose his bulk on a donkey, had walked all the way to the top. Remarkably unwinded, he carefully surveyed the group who had gathered to convince travelers to patronize their inns or take rooms in local homes.

His eyes went immediately to a small girl, about eight, with long dark hair and blue eyes. He walked over to her and waited patiently as she finished giving her pitch for "Hotel Atlantis" to a group of fellow travelers.

"Welcome to Thera." She said as she flashed her eyes at the tall stranger with long, brown hair and blue eyes like hers. You didn't see blue eyes too often on Thera except for her family. He was wearing a beautiful shirt with silk ribbons of many colors woven into it and fine leather trousers.

"I am looking for a hotel? Is this a good one?" He smiled down on her.

"It is a very, very good hotel. My Uncle Horace runs it. Used to belong to my grandfather Michael."

"Well then, I guess you will have to lead the way, or do you want to ride on my donkey, little girl."

"Oh, I love to ride on donkeys. But I am not a little girl, I am Xena, the warrior princess"

He smiled knowing he had found the right island.

She directed him to the courtyard outside the inn. Village children ran and played on the stone square, he assumed correctly that the blue eyed ones were her relatives. She indicated a very old couple sitting at a table in the shade of a grape arbor.

"Those are my grandparents. My grandfather likes to tell people he is over 100 years old. Isn't that silly?"

The man dropped the donkey lead, walked quickly toward her grandfather and grasped his hand in a strange handshake she had not seen in the island before.

"I can't believe I found you buddy." He said to the old man with a huge smile, but she noticed tears streaming down his face.

"Look, look Gabrielle, at who is here," Michael said to his wife. He realized that age had taken the sight from his wife's eyes and that she would not recognize the man beside them at the table. "Horace, we need more wine. Please hurry. I need to sit and talk to an old friend for a while."

Iolaus felt a cool gust of wind come up from the harbor, and closed his eyes for a second to figure out what part of his life he wanted to share with his friend first. A smile came to his face, and his head slumped over to the side. He was dead.

Less than a week later his wife joined him. The family insisted that they both be buried on the hill overlooking the harbor and that the small pot of ashes their mother brought with her to the island be buried with them. The stranger moved on, without telling anyone his name.

* * *

The island's name was eventually changed to Santorini, after a christian saint whose shrine was built on that previously dedicated to Aphrodite. Large ships still come into the harbor where their passengers still ride donkeys up to the village. The Hotel Atlantis still greets visitors with a promise of romance and excitement. Scholars still dig in the mountain searching for lost cities or hidden scrolls, and, I am most certain, somewhere, someplace a goddess still smiles when she thinks about "Old Love."

McJude

August 2001