Retirement

THE DAY THAT Xena decided to leave the road and settle down, I said, "Yeah, sure, and maybe we can invite Joxer to live with us."

"I'm serious, Gabrielle," she insisted. "You know, I'm not getting any younger. I'll be thirty years old next week."

"Are you really THAT old?" I asked in mock surprise. "You and Methuselah--practically tied for the record. Who knew?"

"Hey, we're living in ancient Greece," she protested. "What do you suppose the life expectancy is?"

"Thirty?" I ask.

"If you keep annoying the warrior, it might be about--how old are you right now?" she growled.

"You really think you can give all this up?" I asked, pointing to our fire, saddlebags, and her horse. "And what about your sword?"

"We'll hang it over the fireplace. It will be a nice conversation piece," she answered.

"And the chakram?"

"Broken in that tomb, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot."

"Some bard. Your job is to remember. And to tell the story when I'm gone."

"Won't work," I said.

"Why not?"

"When you go, I go, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's in our contracts. Right under the part that says we NEVER do Tonight Show stunts."

"What's that?" Her blue eyes are puzzled.

"Never mind. You won't get that joke for--oh, about two thousand years." I tried to change the subject. "So, anyway, you're going to retire."

"Yeah, Gabrielle."

"Well, I can always 'bard,' but what are you going to do if you're not wandering the countryside looking for your father and righting wrongs?"

"Looking for my father? When did I EVER say I was looking for my father?"

"Just a rumor," I said. "So what are you going to do?"

"I thought I would become a saddle maker," she said very seriously, pointing at Argo's saddle.

I considered for a few moments. "Okay," I said, "we'll settle down. But one thing, Xena, if you want to sell those saddles?"

"Yeah?"

"Lose the horn."