by Terry Mahoney

Created on: July 21, 2009

She brushed by the uniformed guards and into the empty House chamber. They should have stopped her, considering her massive height, the sheathed sword she carried and her outlandish garb.

Instead of her fringed robes, laurel wreath and shield (to match the sword) the guards had seen...

Well, what they had seen was of no concern to her. This was her home, and she could naturally go where she wished.

She paused about halfway down the aisle and turned to face one end of the chamber, focusing on the bas-relief above the gallery entrance there. George Mason turned his one visible eye toward her, straining to see if she would call him. He was the first of twenty-three famous lawgivers depicted around the chamber.

She did not pick the Virginian, but she did favor him with a smile. His pen was mighty, certainly mightier than most swords, but in this case, she needed the threat of the sword over the eternal strength of the pen.

She took off her ridiculous hat, with its plumage and tufts. It itched. And besides, she much preferred her older, plain, felt liberty cap. She pulled it out of her robes and swapped the two

The next that caught her eye was Longshanks, and she shuddered at the thought of him doing her bidding. She would not bring him out, and the scowl he shot at her told her the antipathy was mutual.

For her own reasons she skipped some more faces, but stopped at Saint Louis. Smiling, she blew him a little kiss. He blushed and looked away, and her titter of laughter was so incongruous in the House chamber that the guards actually looked in at her briefly.

Lycurgus likewise did not meet her needs. Lycurgus was close, but just a little too mythical for her tastes. And you couldn't always trust a Spartan not to knock heads when a rap on the knuckles was all that was called for.

Next she passed over Hammurabi, Moses and Solon. The first would be too autocratic (and likely to impale her target), the second too righteous and the last, while having the political mind she desired, had too much of a poet's heart.

She passed over more scholars and jurists, a Turk and a pope and then her gaze settled on a bearded man with shoulder length hair. He noticed the attention, and with a smirk, gave her what had to be a wink, even if she could only see the one eye.

She gave another laugh, and just like that, knew she had her man: A perfect balance of iron fist and Byzantine political nuance. A quick salute to the rest and then she addressed her choice.

"Simon, the

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