He slammed his fist down onto the marble cill in a rare, if private, show of frustration. His plans had been progressing so well. Verchinex had fallen to him and the Gaul's execution should have sealed his grasp on the power that he knew was his by divine right. Pompey could have been relegated to a position of minor irritation, to be dealt with when the opportunity presented itself. It had all been going so well. His plans had been meticulously laid and executed. Every possible factor analysed and prepared for. Except ....

She had shown up.

In retrospect, he should have had her arrested as soon as she appeared. Her past actions provided more than enough justification on the legal requirements, (even if he'd really needed them); she had already been condemned for piracy and she had actively participated in the armed revolt in Britannia. Yet ... she fascinated him. The mixture of sensuality and barely constrained savagery made her so different from any woman he had ever known. The way she had strode into his palace, - As if she had owned the place, - he mused, - without the slightest fear that I would act against her, - had made him curious enough to play her game for a while. It had been a mistake! He hadn't needed a delighted Pompey to tell him that she had played him for a fool.

Looking back over the comedy of events he nearly laughed at himself. He'd been so certain that he was the one in control of the situation. All he knew of the woman had led him to make assumptions that had proven to be almost disastrously wrong. His last face to face meeting with her had been over ten years into the distant past and he had conducted his campaign to combat the woman, a woman barely more than a girl, he had then known. That had been his biggest mistake. In the intervening years, the girl had matured into a confident, sophisticated, very deadly, and highly talented adversary. The woman, she had become, had evolved far from the pirate he had known.

He almost allowed a smile to crease his rather petulant lips, a smile that would never touch his calculating brown eyes. He was aware that he was responsible for what Xena had become, so in a way he was the architect of his own failure on this particular occasion. She had manipulated his emotions and actions to perfection, and had planned just exactly how to push him to achieve her ends. It had been a campaign worthy of praise and, had it not been for the fact that Pompey had witnessed the whole sordid affair, knowing exactly what she had done, then he might well have offered her a private salutation.

As it stood, his main rival was well aware that not only was Verchinex very much alive and once again running rampant in Gaul, but that Crassus, the third member of the Triumvirate, had been executed in the barbarian's place. It was intolerable!

Now there were rumours spreading like wildfire through *his* city. He knew exactly where they originated. It was in Pompey's interest to spread the 'lies'. However, his own people were countering the rumours, with his personal brand of disinformation. For everyone who said that 'Verchinex had escaped and was back with his people,' he had someone replying with, 'It's just another savage who's taken the name to cash in on Verchinex's reputation.' For everyone who declared that 'It was Crassus who had been executed in the arena,' he had someone reminding them that 'Crassus was reported dead in Syria.' Things were balanced but not satisfactory.

He allowed his gaze to linger possessively on the night draped city before turning back to his desk with a purposeful stride. He would not allow the incident to inconvenience him. He'd find a way of taking care of Pompey, there would always be an opportunity to break the man's strength, to humble his arrogant pride, and dispose of him. All it required was patience and the resolve to seize any opportunity that presented itself.

Here in his private apartments, he had begun to draw the strands of his revenge together. A revenge reserved for a far more formidable opponent than Pompey would ever be. He kept his private documents here, rather than his more formal office, that way they were close enough for him to study no matter the hour of the night, for he slept but little in the huge comfortable bed that lay empty and neglected on the far side of the chamber.

His eyes ran over the scroll that lay open on his desk. Verchinex was once more proving to be the centre of resistance to Rome in Gaul. The XIVth Legion was taking losses, a situation that needed to be remedied before they added fuel to Pompey's rumours. In the meantime he'd free up some of the Auxiliaries from Britannia to bolster the XIVth's position. Though something of a more permanent nature need to be arranged before too long.

He stared, unseeing at the scroll, for some time as plans and possibilities juggled in his brain, his fertile intellect working on the problem. He slowly rolled the scroll up and placed it on a pile that lay on the left side of his neatly ordered desk. He drew another from the pile on the right side and broke the seal absentmindedly as he pursued his thoughts. He scanned the opening paragraph without really absorbing the content of the words, until a phrase caught his attention and he returned to the start of the scroll, now reading carefully. His eyes widened in frank disbelief at what was detailed there and, placing the scroll to one side, he reached for another to compare the content.

He tapped his chin speculatively, narrowing his dark, brown eyes as he absorbed the information. He felt an uncomfortable itch somewhere between his shoulder blades as he remembered the "assassination" attempt by Xena. He suppressed a shudder. His over confidence could easily have led to his death. Only her obvious determination to successfully complete her plan had allowed him to live. If she had really intended to kill him that night, then four legionaries would have had as much chance of stopping her as children would. He mentally filed the information away for later use; Xena could now command her emotions when she had a greater goal to aim for.

The open scrolls on the desk, and several of the others, gave details of many of the fights that the Warrior Princess had been involved in. The latest one was a report that stated she had, single-handedly beaten off three hundred of Persia's crack cavalry scouts. Even allowing for exaggeration, the feat was impressive. Even if a mere tenth of the numbers had been involved, one woman beating thirty men was staggering. What gave the tale credence, though, was the many reports of other similar victories.

The debacle in the arena had given him some idea of her fighting skills. In hindsight it was obvious that she had been fighting a defensive action, until she had received some kind of signal - Probably from her irritating blonde friend. - At that point, she had become a different warrior. It was no mean feat of strength to drag down both a horse and it's rider. The timing involved in removing a second rider with the sweep of a pike had been equally impressive. But the ease with which she had roundly beaten one of his best men with that same broken pike was phenomenal.

He'd seen the bloodlust in her eyes, the rage that burned deep within her soul, as she stood above the prone soldier. But she had refused to gratify that same lust, that the crowd had shown with their baying for blood, and when she stood to face him he had seen that her rage was reserved for him alone .. a personal declaration of hatred and contempt said without words in front of thousands of witnesses.

He smiled softly, without humour, to himself. - Life needed danger to add spice to the victories. - He thought briefly of Crassus who had proven too weak to be matched against the Warrior Princess, "I told you Crassus," he whispered to himself, "Divide and Conquer." He leaned back into his chair and allowed the many pieces of the puzzle to fall into place, as his eyes burned with malicious intent, "Her friend *is* the key, and I will use it." He laughed out loud as his plans shaped themselves, "A key that will finish Verchinex once and for all, and leave you a powerless pawn, Xena." he leaned forward and poured himself a cup of wine, "I promise you, Xena, my sweet," he said raising the cup in a private toast, "that you will be sorry that you ever interfered in my plans!"