Chapter Fourteen: The Road to Recovery
(Warning! This chapter contains scenes of graphic violence!)
She had worked hard on reviving her muscle control in the time that she had been left in isolation. She felt a little stronger, although her head swam alarmingly at every movement, and she doubted whether she'd be able to stand unsupported yet. She closed her eye, shutting out the glare of light that still stabbed her brain with a sickening intensity.

In the fullness of time, the awareness of being observed forced her to open it once again. Her suspect vision revealed a blurred image of a man peering through the barred grill of the door, his voice was like the roaring tide as it at once crashed and faded to the rhythm of the waves, "CENturiON! shES AwaKE!"

There seemed to be the bustle of movement in the room that lay beyond the confines of the door. The Warrior Princess, prepared herself as best she could for the invasion of her cell. Her survival instincts were still functional, even if her brain was failing to cooperate with her needs fully.

She heard a key grate in the lock and the heavy double 'BOOM!' as two large bolts were thrown back. She braced herself as the door was swung open and seven men, six armed with heavy batons, entered her space. The officer - The Centurion, - she told herself, looked her up and down, eyeing the many obvious signs of the pounding she had taken during her capture.

The men seemed to rush forward and back at her as she vainly endeavoured to focus on them. The apparent uncontrolled movement made her feel sick, and she was forced to close her eye to steady herself once more and regain control of her rebellious stomach.

"My name is Publius Flavius Flaccus," the Centurion announced. When she gave no response, as she fought her inner battle for control, Flaccus used his vine staff of office to strike her thigh, "You will pay heed, slave!"

The word stung her more than the blow had. The white fire of rage coursed through her, driving away the clouds that fogged her mind, allowing her to open her eye and focus on what she saw before her. - Flaccus, - she decided, - is one of those hard disciplined officers that the Roman army boasts of. And, - she considered, - he enjoyed his power! - That made him a hard task master, and one ready to enforce his authority with strong punishment.

Having succeeded in gaining her attention, Flaccus continued, "My men and I are responsible for your security. If you cause us problems, you will suffer, because my men will suffer. Failure to obey an order, will earn you a beating. Resisting a guard, will gain you a beating. An attempt at escape will bring a beating. Believe me when I say, that you will break before I bend an inch." His voice was cold and hard, perfectly suited to the craggy, scarred face and gray hooded eyes of a career officer in the Roman army. She believed every word he said .... almost. She remained silent, refusing to be bowed by his threats.

"Do you understand what I have said, slave?" he demanded, obviously requiring an answer from her.

- C'mon Xena! - she told herself, - Don't let your pride get the better of you. Now isn't the time for this! -

As she hesitated to respond, the staff descended with a heavier blow on her unprotected thigh, raising a red welt over the purple bruising. She bit back the agony as her leg collapsed beneath her throwing her weight onto her arms once again, and causing her dislocated shoulder to scream in protest. Her damaged ribs sent shock waves of torment searing through her, forcing her to gasp for breath and making her screw her face up in anguish.

Flaccus observed her distress with professional dispassion, waiting for her to regain control over her shuddering breathing before asking calmly, once again, "Do you understand, slave?"

"Y...yes," she responded in a hoarse, tortured whisper that barely made it through her bruised lips.

He probably couldn't make out the identity of the word she struggled to pronounce, but he took it to be an agreement to his question. He looked at Xena with an indifference that made it plain she meant nothing to him. Guarding her was just a duty he had been ordered to perform, one that he would execute with brutal efficiency.

He turned to a soldier who hung back in the doorway, "Give the animal some water, and try to get some porridge into her. We move out at first light, so I want her ready to be moved in less than a candlemark." He glanced at the Warrior Princess before adding to his men, "She might be in no condition to give you trouble now," he warned them, "but take no chances. The whole guard detachment will operate as if she has her full fighting capabilities ... at all times!" he ordered.

"Yes Centurion!" responded the men in the cell in unison.

Flaccus marched from the cell, allowing the soldier, carrying a variety of equipment including two water skins, a bowl of food and some rags to enter. The other six guards took position around the edge of the stone room, batons at the ready, should they be needed.

"Well now pretty," said the soldier softly. He was a thin wiry man of about Gabrielle's height, with graying hair and a clean shaven face. "I can see they've made a real mess of you. Let's get you back on your feet a bit, and then I'll see it I can't clear some of the blood of your face before we get some food and water into you."

"Remember what the Centurion said, Cornelius" growled one of the guards around the cell.

"You lot are here to take care of all that," retorted the man they'd named as Cornelius, "I'm just the physicians mate. I might not be able to take care of all the damage that your treatment has done to her, but it's my job to do what I can," he rebuked them while he used the liquid in one of the skins to gently wash the blood, and accumulated dirt from her face.

Xena winced at the acrid bite of the fluid, and recognised it as being a vinegar wash, used by Roman medics to clean wounds and help prevent infections. Her lips stung like wildfire as he worked around the two splits there. When the caked on blood had been removed he produced a needle already threaded with gut and, as gently as he could manage, put a stitch into each of the cuts on her lips and two into one above her right eye.

"Not much I can do about the bruising," he told her, as he finished his ministrations, "How about a drink, now," The Warrior Princess inclined her head slightly. With the fading of her rage, the sensitivity to movement had regained a hold. Cornelius, held up the waterskin, and allowed the fluid to trickle slowly over her lips, into her parched throat.

- How long has it been since I had anything to drink? - she wondered.

"Slowly now," he warned. When he judged she'd had enough for the moment, he took a careful look into her open eye, "I'd say you've got a concussion," he mused. "I'm no physician, but I've seen soldiers with eyes that do that. Can be dangerous," he added.

He lifted the waterskin to her lips once more and Xena found that she was able to swallow more of the fluid, taking bigger mouthfuls to release the water to run slowly down her throat, "Thanks," she croaked a little more audibly, although the battering her jaw had taken made forming words difficult.

"Any other problems ... other than the obvious ones, I mean, that I should be aware of?" he asked her as he began to clean the abrasions over the rest of her body, with the vinegar wash, "You'll know better than I. I hear you're skilled in medicine."

"Ribs," she managed to tell him, "one broken several cracked. Dislocated shoulder," she added although her words sounded slurred in her own ears.

"I can't do anything for those," Cornelius told her apologetically, "I don't have the training, but I'll let an officer know. Can you manage some food?" He held up a spoonful of the meat porridge and encouraged her to eat some of it, "You're going to need to eat, you know, if you want to heal," he told her.

With his insistence, she managed to swallow about three quarters of the bowl's contents before she couldn't face any more. Cornelius gave her some more water and, unable to do anything else for her, told her, "I'll see you later, pretty. Try not to upset the Centurion. He doesn't like things that don't conform to the rules."

"Thank you," Xena mumbled for his kindness. She doubted that anyone else was likely to show her any.

With the medic assistant finished, Flaccus returned to oversee the transfer of his charge from the cell to the wagon that awaited to transport her to Nemausus. As the chain to the ceiling ringbolt was unlocked, the Warrior Princess found it impossible to make her rebellious legs support her weight, leaving her to slump to the cell's floor.

Flaccus ordered his men to take her out and she was grasped firmly under each shoulder, causing the dislocated joint to sear red hot with a lacerated fire, as she was roughly dragged along, driving all her hard won control from her, to send her plunging back into the dark pit that swallowed her consciousness.

The legionaries hauled her through the crowded guardroom that was astir with men preparing to move out on a long march. She was taken through a series of torch lit corridors, out of the guardhouse area of the barracks into an enclosed courtyard, where a large, covered wagon stood amidst the bustle of a Roman maniple preparing for movement.

Xena remained unaware of her surroundings as she was taken to the wagon and thrown roughly up onto it's bed. The six soldiers who had been detailed to travel with her, swiftly took charge of their prisoner, and moved her inert body into a three foot square iron cage that was locked shut with a large, heavy padlock.

Flaccus appeared at the rear of the wagon and admonished his men, "You keep your eyes on her at all times. You'll be relieved in three candlemarks. Stay sharp."

"Yes sir!" they responded.

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The moving wagon turned Xena's world into a hellish nightmare. When she finally managed to claw her way back to the real world, she was made all too aware of her injuries by the conditions she was locked into. The cage was too small for her to stretch out her long legs, forcing her into cramped positions that tortured her ribs, something that was further exacerbated by the jolting motion of an unsprung wagon. Her situation was further worsened by the dislocated shoulder and the heavy manacles she wore. The combination of the two made it very difficult for her to use her arms to give herself some support to counter the rough ride she was being forced to endure.

She closed her eyes, focusing inwards, trying to blot out the pain and discomfort that had invaded her life. She sought refuge in her memories, seeking solace in her remembrances of good times, good friends and, as ever the smiling face of a bard from Potidaea. As she warmed herself in the glow of friendship and love, she attempted to take advantage of any rest she could manage, knowing that her body needed time and rest to recover from the ravages of the last day.

- A day! - she thought, - Has it only been a day? - She did not know for sure, and had no way of telling. She believed that it had only been the morning before when she had landed in Narbo, but she was not certain, could not be certain of that. Nothing seemed certain any longer. Except ... she had the certainty of Gabrielle! They couldn't take that from her. She had her memories (she almost smiled as the bard's face sprung forth in her mind's eye) and she had the comfort of knowing that her friend was far from the brutality of her present existence. - Stay safe, Gabrielle! - she sent out a silent plea.

It was a candlemark before midday, when they drew to a halt, and she became aware of many men around the wagon, stopping to eat their lunch rations of journey bread, cheese and olives, washed down with some of the watered, sour tasting wine that they carried in their flasks.

Cornelius drew back the canvass cover and hopped nimbly into the wagon carrying a waterskin and something wrapped in a cloth. The six guards recognised him and allowed him to approach the cage bars where he stopped and touched Xena lightly on the arm to draw her attention, "How goes it, pretty?" he asked as he handed her the waterskin, for her to slake her thirst.

She took a long grateful drink before answering, "Could be better," she mumbled wryly, pleased to note that the slur in her voice had definitely lessened.

"Here," he ordered, "Let's have a look at that eye again," He reached through the bars with both his hands and gently helped her tilt her head until he could get a good look at the one showing pupil. "That begins to look better," he said pleased, "The dilating has slowed and isn't so erratic either. You heal fast, pretty."

"So I've been told," she said carefully, trying to form the words so they would be understood.

He unwrapped the cloth bundle so the guards could see what it was, and handed her a wedge of soft, crumbly cheese, "I didn't think you'd be able to chew anything hard," he told her, "so this will have to do for now."

"It'll be fine," she answered, knowing that she still didn't have the stomach for too much food. She lay the cheese on her lap and took another long drink from the waterskin, before handing it back to Cornelius.

"We'll be on the march again shortly," smiled the wiry little man. "Get what rest you can." She inclined her head to him in agreement and watched as he left the wagon the way he came before carefully taking a bite of the cheese.

The guard was changed again at midday and her new clutch of watchdogs proved to be no different from those she had previously shared the wagon with. All were silent, for which she was thankful as her head still throbbed, if not with quite the vehemence that it had previously. They never seemed to take their eyes from her, though. Her slightest movement brought an intensified look as if they thought she was about to break free of her shackles and burst out of the cage like some god - Or demon! - she thought was more likely. Pushing them from her mind, she forced herself to take what rest she could. There would be time enough for planning an escape when she was in a better condition to execute it.

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The evening stop came some time before nightfall to give the Legionaries the time to establish their palisaded camp. It was erected with army speed and precision with the eight man tents laid out in neat streets behind the sheltering walls of the earth rampart and stake walls that the soldiers quickly threw up.

Xena saw none of the activity, although she could hear it. She also knew that her wagon was drawing curiosity as it was not left with the baggage train, but established within the centre of the camp. The distant mutters of curiosity suggested to her that there were soldiers who had no idea exactly what the wagon held.

Her suspicions were further confirmed when she heard faint murmurings about treasure. She had to concentrate her senses to pick out the conversations kept at some distance, which intimated that the hand picked maniple of guards had orders to keep other soldiers away. This in turn allowed her to make the educated guess that she was travelling amongst a far larger body of men, maybe even an entire Legion, from the volume of sound in the camp around her.

The possibilities intrigued her. She discarded the ridiculous idea that Caesar would waste a whole Legion purely as guards for her, which meant that the troops must be being moved for another purpose, - Perhaps staging for an assault on Gaul? - she guessed. The possibility that interested her most, however, was the thought that should she be able to get away from her screen of guards, the majority of soldiers in the camp would have no idea who she was! - Providing I could find a way to get out of these chains, - she told herself, and then added, - and find a way to disguise the collar until I can get rid of it. -

With the wagon remaining stationary she was able to get some undisturbed rest. She was uncomfortable in her cramped conditions, but she felt far better than she had when first she recovered consciousness. In fact, her miraculous internal healing system seemed to be performing its usual amazing feats. Although she retained a dull headache, she no longer felt the nauseous lurchings as she struggled to keep the gyrating waves of unfocused dizziness, and threatening darkness, at bay.

Her ribs would take longer to heal, and she needed a way to force her dislocated shoulder back into it's socket. But her arms and legs, although stiff and sore, also seemed to be far more responsive, and she was certain that she'd now be able to do just a little more than support herself, if called on to do so.

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Caesar sat relaxed, one boot balanced on the toe of the other, in the comfort of his command tent, erected at the central point of the Roman encampment on the 'Via Principalis' as it was known. He listened to Flaccus' report on the prisoner and had heard what the little medical auxiliary had to say about her injuries. - It's a pity that the unit's doctor drunk himself to death. - he thought, as he would have liked Xena's injuries treated so he could judge just how hurt she was and monitor her recovery rates which were reported to be phenomenal. - Still, if it proves necessary I can call on the medical services of the VII's healer, - he mused.

His plans for her were complex, but her ability to recover quickly from injuries might prove to be valuable. He'd probably have to wait to satisfy himself on that score until Patroclese rejoined him, although the thought of waiting annoyed him. In the meantime, he'd be just as happy, if the Warrior Princess remained too weakened by her injuries to even think of causing any trouble.

He stroked his smooth chin, his brown eyes lost in thought. The Centurion and the medical auxiliary stood at rigid attention and would remain so until dismissed by their General, "So, you say she has spent practically the entire day sleeping?" he questioned suddenly.

"Yes, sir!" snapped back Flaccus with brisk military correctness.

Caesar frowned, irritated by his inability to get the exact answer he required. He felt an urgent need to judge just how much her injuries were now effecting her. It wouldn't alter his provisions for guarding against her escape, but it might be important to know just how much strength she had managed to regain in just one day. After the beating she had taken, any normal person would have likely hovered close to death for weeks, if not actually dying within candlemarks. She on the other hand, seemed to be on the road to recovering her fitness.

"Two candlemarks after dark, I want her brought to me in here," he said suddenly, making up his mind to take a chance to see if he could harvest some information. "Two guards will do for an escort. Let's see how my pigeon is faring, shall we?"

"Sir," said Flaccus, not at all sure his commander was making sense, considering the elaborate and heavy guard arrangements that he'd put in place up until that point.

"You can both go, Caesar told the Centurion and Cornelius. Both snapped off smart salutes and quickly exited his presence.

"My Lord Caesar," Brutus spoke from behind him, concern evident in his voice. "Are you sure that two guards will be enough? I'm certain that the Warrior Princess would like nothing more than to get a chance at killing you, and she may see this as her opportunity."

"Almost certainly," agreed Caesar, his mind busy, "Two for the escort should be enough for what I have in mind ... she is after all a chained woman who needs to be supported to even stand at the moment." He looked at Brutus with a secretive smile on his lips, "Worry not, my friend. All will be well. Here's what I have in mind ...."

Chapter Fourteen: The Road to Recovery
Continued
At the appointed candlemark, Flaccus unlocked the cage that housed Xena, and detailed two men to take her into Caesar's tent. As she was pulled out of her confinement, she stifled a moan as her pain filled shoulder protested the treatment, but was no longer assailed by the waves of blackness that had claimed her that morning.

The guards got her out of the wagon without much assistance from her .. even though her arms and legs were stiff and sore, she knew that some measure of strength had returned to them, but she had no intention of letting her Roman guards know that. - Knowledge is power, and what they don't know helps me! - she told herself.

With the soldiers bracing her under the shoulders again, she had to grit her teeth against the lancing agony that shot through the joint as she was dragged towards a large tent. - Command tent, - she registered with a practised soldier's eye. She took the opportunity to glance around and, from what she saw, she became certain that Caesar marched with an entire Legion. - The VII, - she thought as she located and recognised the eagle and banners that proclaimed the unit's identity. - A crack, core of hardened veterans. -

She was guided through the canvass tent flap into the brightly lit accommodation belonging to Caesar. Her good eye was dazzled for a second as it adjusted from darkness to light, and she blinked several times to try and focus the images around her. The guards halted about five foot from a table laden with the remains of their commander's meal. Xena appeared to struggle to get her feet solidly under herself so that she could stand to face her enemy ... her legs appeared rubbery.

Caesar looked at her with a measuring glance, noting the slight tremor in her knees as her pride held her upright before him. That she refused to acknowledge his superiority, did not surprise him. That she would be forced to accept his mastery, was something he was determined to see.

At a slight nod from their commander, the two guards kicked their charge in the back of her unstable legs, forcing her to her knees before the man who claimed ownership of her. Unable to restrain herself, the Warrior Princess directed a look of bleak, cold, hatred at her enemy. A lesser man would have recoiled from the sheer intensity of that look, but Caesar returned it with a cool one of his own, that further fuelled the fires of her rage.

She, unconsciously, strained at the irons that held her wrists. Yet even though she had broken chains in the past when gripped by her dark emotions, her muscles weren't recovered enough to duplicate the feat.

Caesar continued to observe her with seeming placid superiority, "Don't bother, Xena," he told her conversationally, "Those chains were forged especially for you. Even with your full fitness you would find it impossible to break free of them. They're far thicker and stronger than usual. You see the stories about you have given me the information I need to contain you." He poured himself a goblet of wine and plucked a grape from a dish of fruit as he studied her.

Her face, he noted, was heavily bruised. Her right eye swollen shut, the left only able to partly open. The whole of her normally sleek body was mottled by dark purple, blue and black marks. Yet marred and chained as she was, she managed to maintain her air of majesty, as if she was in control of all around her.

He took a sip of the wine as he watched her. Saw the tightness around her mouth, the tension in her muscles. Stubborn, arrogant pride was written into her every look, her every movement. Breaking her to his will was going to be a long and arduous task, a test of patience, but worth the effort if it could be achieved. And there was the difficulty, - Can it be achieved? - he thought to himself.

His destiny was to become Master of the World. He had know this for many years, had even shared the vision of his destiny with the young, immature Xena, who had captured and ransomed him so many years ago now. He had shown his mastery then, by taking her, along with her crew of pirates, and having them all crucified. But she had survived, lived to mature and grow in her hatred of him, to become ... if not a threat, at least an irritant that he needed to exorcise. Besides, something within him demanded that he bend this woman to his will. Her strength mocked him, and he needed to dominate.

He placed the goblet back on the table before him and picked up a thin metal collar, inspecting the inscription he'd had written on it. It was a very expensive item. Forged from the metal extracted from a rock that had fallen from the heavens. It's twin was around her neck, and the pair were unique.

"Do you know what this is, Xena?" he asked her pleasantly, holding the collar up for her to see. His only reply was the icy stare, but that didn't worry him. He hadn't expected her to answer, "Of course you do," he supplied the answer for her, "It's a slave collar. A match for the one around you own, normally, quite lovely throat."

He locked his eyes on her. "These collars are unique. Made from a skyrock. That's enough to make them unique, you know, but these also have inscribed upon them, 'Property of Caesar'. That's you, by the way," he told her with a laugh, "and these collars are the only two in the world that bear such a legend. Add to that the fact that the metal from a skyrock is one of the most valuable commodities in the world, as well as being one that is invulnerable to the metals we normally use, you can see how much I truly value you."

He failed to provoke a response.

"Of course, I had the other one made for you irritating friend. Did I tell you that she'll be joining us in a few days?" he threw this piece of information into his monologue and noted the way her glare intensified and her muscles almost cracked in the desire to break the chains that held her. Yet still she refused to respond verbally to his taunting.

He smiled patiently. - Everything would come with patience. - he told himself. "Have you eaten this evening?" he asked, knowing she hadn't and gesturing to the scraps that remained from his own meal. It was a calculated insult, scraps to be offered to a dog. The insult continued his campaign to goad her into showing her strength.

He was now certain that she was better recovered than she was pretending to be. Her whole demeanor proclaimed it in a hundred, almost imperceptible, ways while she fought to keep that information hidden from him, "Why don't you ask me for some food, Xena?" He said sitting forward in his chair to look at her intently, "Why don't you ask me to let you friend go free?"

"I'll ask nothing of you," she ground out sullenly. "I'll give you nothing you want! And I don't believe you even know where Gabrielle is!"

He leaned back in his chair and smiled smugly, "You're wrong you know," he told her with confident certainty, "You're going to give me everything I ever dreamed of ... you and your little bard friend. She's on the way to Nemausus, by the way. The same as we are"

Xena stared back at him, trading glare for smile. Her rage had been banked to white hot and the molten fire that flowed through her veins cleared away all thought of physical pain. - He can't have Gabrielle. It's impossible. She is safe with the Amazons. And yet! ... - And yet, she knew that Caesar was not a man to make an idle boast.

Even as she struggled to control her fear and anger, her eye had been attracted by something small and metal on Caesar's table. She was aware of what Caesar was trying to do here. The sudden relaxation of the guard detail, shouted loud that he was fishing about her capabilities. Give her just enough room and she'd supply all the answers to the questions he needed to be solved. - Well, maybe I will! - her anger flared. - but not for the reasons he providing. -

She had no doubt that there were a good twenty soldiers within a call's distance, her acute hearing picked up the sounds that most people would miss. But, the thin, small piece of metal on the table called to her. Even though she risked more heavy handed treatment, she needed to make the most of opportunities as they presented themselves. She doubted she would be offered many such.

Beginning to feel that his goading was not going to get her to show her hidden strength, if indeed she had any and he was not just reading something into her that wasn't there, he suddenly grew wearied of the game. He looked at the guards and ordered, "Return her to her cage."

As the soldiers pulled their, previously helpless and pliant, captive to her feet, they suddenly found themselves trying to keep a hold on a force of nature. With double fisted swings, backed by the heavy metal of the shackles, she felled the two hapless guards with jaw cracking power.

With her ankles too constricted by the chains they bore to move her quickly, she executed a forward roll that took her to the table before Caesar. As she rose up from her tumble, she grasped its edge and heaved it at the man as he struggled to his feet, throwing him off balance as he grabbed for his sword and screamed, "Guards!"

She knew that she had bare moments before she would be overpowered. She had to make it look as if Caesar was the target of her efforts. She snagged the object that she'd been aiming for, and managed to force the small, sharp tool into the hem of her shift as she moved to confront her hated tormentor.

In the moment it had taken for her to secure and hide the object, Caesar had regained his balance and drawn his sword with an ease born of long practice. As she moved towards him, he was ready for her and levelled the blade to her throat just touching her skin. They stood, thus, in a frozen tableau as the tent suddenly filled with men. Strong arms grabbed her from behind, and pulled her roughly away from the Roman. She quirked her lips in a dark, chilling smile, letting him know that his control of her was illusory. She forced herself to relax as she was pushed back down to her knees. Not that she was in any real condition to resist. She had used her reserves to steal her prize, a fine metal toothpick that she would harbour against her next slim opportunity.

Caesar's face burned with fury. That he'd been right about her did nothing to soothe his nerves about her getting so close to him. He glared at the luckless, unconscious, legionaries who had been his 'bait' to test her, "Take those fools out and give them twenty five lashes each when they wake up. Maybe it will teach the rest of you to remember just how dangerous she is ... at all times!"

"Why blame your men?" she purred insolently at him, "We both know who's fault it was." She knew her barb had hit the mark. His plan had been transparent to her from the start, but even so she hadn't been able to resist the opening he had given her.

Caesar felt shaken by the sheer intensity of the woman. He had very little doubt that she would have done her very best to kill him if she'd been able, and be damned to the consequences. - It will be different, - he told himself, - when I have the bard in my hands to use against her. But for now, - "Yes we know whose fault it was," he snarled, "Yours!" He glared angrily at her, annoyed that she could so easily irritate him when he held all the trump cards, "It's time you started to learn the realities of your new position, Xena," he turned to Flaccus, "Give her twenty lashes here, now, before you put her back in the cage."

Two guards pulled her roughly back to her feet and hauled her over to the tent's thick central support post. Just above head height was a metal spike, used to hang a lantern from. The lantern was quickly removed and Xena's shackles hung over the spike in the lantern's place. Forced to stand on her toes, her shoulder, once again screaming protests at the abuses it was suffering, her ribs shooting exquisite torment through her frame, causing her to take short painful breaths, she could do nothing to resist the flogging that had been ordained for her.

The Centurion ripped open the back of her shift exposing more of the heavy discolourations that covered her body. Flaccus stepped back to give himself some room to swing the whip that had hung curled at his waist. No sign of emotion showed on the Centurion's face. He had warned the woman the price for transgressing the bounds. He would perform this task as he would any other ... with efficiency.

Xena closed her eyes and gripped the post as firmly as she was able. She heard the lash whistle through the air before it struck her exposed flesh, cutting deep, drawing blood. The shock was enough to drown the pain ... at first.

"One!" announced the Centurion as he drew back his arm for the second strike.

Clamping her jaws together as hard as she could, Xena tried to anticipate the descent of the whip, arching her back to ride the blow as far as possible, but the way she had been hauled up, gave her little chance of achieving her aim. The vicious leather bit again, causing her to jerk against her chains in reaction.

"Two!" came the count.

Breathing became added torture as her ribs made their condition felt. Sweat beaded her brow as she waited for the next blow to fall. She tracked the motion of the whip with her ears, hearing it fly back away from her body, then whistle forward again, with pitiless impartiality. It struck lower, across the small of her back, forcing her to draw breath sharply.

"Three!" she heard announced.

She leaned her forehead onto the pole, trying to gather her will to withstand the brutality of such punishment. As the lash slashed across her back from shoulder to hip, the slow heat of gradual pain began to increase as shocked flesh started to register the torment being inflicted upon it.

"Four!"

Blocking out the sound of everything around her, other than the whip's movement and the count of the blows, she moved her hands to take a firm hold on the chains above her and gripped them with white knuckled ferocity.

"Five!"

- God's! - her mind cried out as her back began to flame with burning fever as the lash bit deep once again.

"Six!"

She could feel the trickles of blood run down her back, as the wounds cut by the stinging leather increased in number. Sweat glistened from every pore of her body, mixing with the crimson flow drawn from her skin, further adding to her torment as the salty fluid fed into the cuts.

"Seven!"

Her jaw ached with the effort she used to keep from crying out. Her pride, her stubborn pride, was trying so hard to hide her agony from Him. She knew it was a vain effort, but she would withstand the suffering as long as she could.

"Eight!"

Another slashing diagonal cut roasted her tormented hide. She stifled a soft whimper before it could escape her. - Not even halfway through the ordeal! - she berated herself. - Some Warrior Princess! - she flogged herself with contempt at her perceived weakness and stiffened her resolve.

"Nine!"

- I've suffered worse. - she told herself. - The Gauntlet, the capture. I will survive this! - She shuddered as the heavy blows further damaged the cracks in her ribs, finally breaking them forcing her breathing to come in agonized short gasps.

"Ten!"

- I can endure whatever I have to. - she told herself, - But please let Gabrielle be safe! -

"Eleven"

- Does burning feel like this? - she asked herself, her mind wandering, as white hot needles of agony lanced through her lacerated back. - Did the people of Cirrah feel this pain? -

"Twelve!"

Her torment took her into the nightmare depths of the dark recesses of her soul, - So many deaths. So many pointless deaths. Is any punishment too great to bear for what I have done? -

"Thirteen"

A grudging groan battered past the shield of her clenched jaw. Torture of body and soul combined to break her iron resolve.

"Fourteen!"

"Ugghh!" grunted Xena, no longer able to contain the torment inflicted upon her.

"Fifteen!"

Molten lava dripped where her back had once been. The excruciating rawness drove all thought, all other feeling, from her sensibilities.

"Sixteen!"

Another, louder cry was drawn from the Warrior Princess as the whip continued it's scouring of her flesh. Gone were all vestiges of human thought, she was enveloped in pure animal pain that had need to cry it's anguish.

"Seventeen!"

Again the searing lash slashed deep into the mangled skin of her back. The torment, that, in the deepest recess of her mind, she believed could become no worse, intensified.

"Eighteen!"

Her whole body shuddered, jerking in her bonds like a broken puppet. The brutal abuse that it had suffered in less than two days should have been enough to kill any normal being. Yet she survived! She would endure! She no longer cared that she could not stop the cries of pain that her agony demanded she release.

"Nineteen!"

- I will get through this! - the thought bubbled to the surface of her screaming mind. - The screams that he has drawn from me will not break me. He will never break me, No one will control my will but me! -

"Twenty!"

As the final stroke was laid on, Xena sagged from her rigid brace. Her thoughts ran like scattered raindrops, as the searing fire that raged across her back refused to allow her to focus. Yet slowly, floating to the surface, came the determination that Caesar would not see her fall at his feet. As the guards released her from the post, she defied her legs to buckle. Using all of her stubborn strength of will, she stood before Caesar unbowed, unbroken.

She forced her breathing into a normal rhythm and, refusing to let her pain show in her voice, she told him with cold venom, "Reality is what you make of it Caesar. My reality will never be yours to control."

"Take her away," Caesar instructed coldly and watched, reluctantly impressed, as Xena shook off the hands that reached for her and exited the tent unaided, if unsteadily. A feat of superhuman strength of will that was not lost on the Roman. - Something has to be done to slow the speed of her recovery down, until she knows for certain I hold the bard. - he decided.

"Flaccus!" he snapped, making an instant decision, "She's to have only a cup of water morning and night until we reach Nemausus. Let's see if a little starvation will dampen her spirits, and keep her from regaining too much strength too quickly." He gave a bleak smile. "Oh, make sure that the Seventh's healer sees to her ribs .. I think several of them broke under your ministrations .. after all the trouble I've been to, I don't want to puncture something that will rob me of her. Other than that, her injuries can wait for Patroclese to attend them in Nemausus."

Chapter Fifteen: A Matter of Life and Death

The continuing journey north, through Narbonensis, became one of unremitting agony for Xena. After her flogging, she had been returned to her cage where she curled herself into a protective ball on her side, trying to keep the bars from touching her tattered back, while struggling with the discomfort and lack of flexibility caused by her broken ribs.

Outside the wagon she heard Cornelius' voice asking to be allowed entrance to treat her wounds. She winced, unable to stop herself from shuddering at the thought of the vinegar wash being used on the bleeding lacerations that the whip had left.

"She needs to be treated to make sure there's no infection," explained the little man patiently.

"Sorry," came the rough answer, "No one but the detailed guards gets to see her now. After coming so close to killing the General, she's lucky to still be alive."

"How long do you think she'll live if those wounds become infected?" demanded Cornelius.

"Look," came back the reply of a soldier beginning to grow tired of the conversation, " The healer from the VIIth saw her last night and bound up her ribs to make sure she don't go and die on us, as for anything else, I'm just following my orders. If you don't like it, take it up with the Centurion. Or better yet, go and see the General." There was an accumulation of laughter as the guards around the wagon found the thought amusing.

"I might just do that," shouted the little medical auxiliary as he stamped off.

Time passed and Cornelius did not return. - So! - thought Xena cocooned in a well of misery and pain, - it seems that I shook his confidence. I wonder if it was enough to shake him from his plans? Maybe he'll let me die now. - The thought didn't worry her. Buried deep in the purgatory of her mortified flesh she found it difficult to care whether she lived or died.

A face swam in front of her eyes, "Promise me!" it demanded.

"Gabrielle?" she mumbled, unsure whether she had spoken aloud or not. Uncaring either way.

"Xena! Promise me you won't give up. Don't die on me again." insisted the bard's image. "Promise me, Xena!"

"Promise," the Warrior Princess had whispered, although it seemed to be one of the hardest things she had ever had to do, "I promise." Her hand clutched at the hem of her ruined, blood crusted, shift. The toothpick remained safe, a talisman held against her eventual escape from the awful mess she found herself in.

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For the next seven days they journeyed on towards Nemausus. Untreated, her back lay open to the dirt thrown up all around her and the flakes of rust off of the iron cage. Deprived of food and all but the barest amount of water, Xena's power to heal herself withered and her strength, that had begun to return when they had left Narbo, slowly dissolved under the twin assaults of starvation and illness.

Halfway through the journey she began to lapse in and out of consciousness, taking longer to struggle back from the dark pit that closed around her each time. By the sixth day she had developed a high fever and could no longer be roused for the ration of water she was allowed morning and night. The guards administered it to her unconscious form anyway. Caesar had ordered that she drink morning and night, so the soldiers took the time to trickle it slowly down her throat.

Although Xena was unaware of time or travel, her passing did not go unnoticed. The heavy wagon that carried her was stationed in the middle of the marching Legion and dictated the pace of the march. Guards were thick around the wagon, keeping inquisitive ordinary soldiers, and peasants, alike well away from it. Such strong precautions were bound to lead to speculations, and the rumours of Caesar's treasure, wondered about (half joking) by the Legionaries, became the focal point of conversations for all the villages that they passed through on their route north.

For the rest of the trip, Caesar ignored his prisoner, other than to hear a daily report from Flaccus about her worsening condition. The Roman general was concerned to hear of the deterioration, but a messenger had arrived informing him that Patroclese had arrived at Nemausus safely with his charge, and he felt confident in Xena's ability to survive her ordeal until she could be treated by the physician he trusted. - Besides, I still want her too weak to cause problems. At least until I have another means of control to hand! - he noted grimly.

They reached the large garrison city of Nemausus at dusk on the eighth day. The VIIth legion was given orders to encamp outside of the city walls, while the special maniple, and the wagon they guarded, followed Caesar and his personal guards within the walls. Even at the late candlemark, there were men and women eager to stand on the street and cheer the great Julius Caesar as he rode by at the head of his troops.

And news, at it so often does, had run before him speaking of the great treasure that travelled in a covered wagon and was closely guarded. It almost seemed that more eyes were turned to the wagon than were on the heroic Caesar! If Xena had been aware of any of the interest that was being shown, she might just have laughed. Hearing herself described as Caesar's treasure might have been a joke that even she would have been unable to resist the humour of.

The column wound it's way to the centre of the city and the sprawling Roman barracks that held the standing garrison for the area. They were admitted through the huge, heavy, gates that allowed deeper access to the complex and the wagon, with its attendant guards, finally came to a halt in an enclosed courtyard that had been cleared of all other personnel.

Under the shroud of the gathering darkness, Xena had been dragged unresisting from her cramped cage and, oblivious to all around her, into the grim portals of the garrison and through twisting, torch lit, damp corridors, until they had reached the extensive dungeons.

The dungeon was a large one, for it also served as the city's main prison. The outer guard room seemed almost akin to a large stone cavern. It stretched thirty-six foot by forty foot, and provision had been made for up to forty men to sleep there, in bunks stacked four high around the edges of the room. There were also benches and tables scattered around, for the use of those on duty, where the soldiers could eat, gamble, or attend to the 'housework' that was required to keep their kit in order. The only door into the chamber was made of thick wood and was heavily bound in iron. It stood at one corner of the room and was diagonally opposite a single cell that stood with two walls made of stone, and two of thick iron bars, that allowed any prisoner held there to be under constant scrutiny.

In the centre of the wall, opposite the entrance door, stood a metal barred gate that gave access to more conventional prisoner accommodation. Standing at the gate and looking to the right, the corridor was lined with eight small, enclosed cells, each sealed by heavy wooden doors with small grills set into them. The left hand side of the corridor had three, large, communal cells, fronted by floor to ceiling bars and inhabited by the usual scum that got into trouble in a city the size and importance of Nemausus.

Upon entrance to the dungeon, Xena was dragged directly to the cage, in the main guardroom, where dangerous prisoners were kept. The cell was bare other than for a wide stone bench that served as bed and seating both and two rough woollen blankets. The Warrior Princess was deposited on the bench, on top of the blankets, and left face down in her unconscious state while forty men of the guard maniple moved into their new quarters.

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Patroclese had been awaiting his Lord's summons, and answered the call to Caesar's presence promptly. He entered the apartment to find Caesar idly toying with Xena's chakram, twisting it in his hands, a far distant look in his eyes. Yet he was aware of the healer's entrance for he said to him, "I have never seen another weapon like this, Patroclese." He held it before his face and added, "I doubt that there are many warriors in this world capable of using such a device to the deadly effect that she manages."

He tossed the chakram onto his ordered desk, scattering some of the papers laid for his attention as he did so. The healer noted that his master rubbed at the scar on his right hand. That scar had been made from a splinter of wood that had stabbed Caesar after the Warrior Princess had split a moving javelin, down its centre, with the chakram. He knew that for a fact, unbelievable though it seemed, for he had treated the wound for his master.

"She needs your ministrations," the Emperor told him, changing tack suddenly. "She took a heavy beating during her capture, but within a day she had recovered enough strength to take out two guards and attack me. I took steps to keep her in a weakened state, but I may have been too drastic." He turned the full penetration of his brown eyes on the healer, "I want her to live, Patroclese. She is the key to so many of my plans. You can have what time you need, and whatever help and equipment that you require. But you make sure that she recovers."

"Might I enquire about the extent of her injuries?" asked Patroclese politely.

"Heavy bruising, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder and twenty lashes for trying to kill me." Caesar told him evenly.

"The Xena I know would have been well on her way to full recovery of such injuries by now," the healer offered quietly.

"So she would," agreed his Lord. "My life nearly answered for just how quickly she can mend. As I told you, steps were taken to counter that. She's had no treatment of any kind since the flogging, other than to bind the ribs to ensure that they didn't cause internal damage. I'm told that her wounds have become infected and that she has a fever. She's been more or less unconscious for the past four days. She also hasn't eaten in seven days, and has had a rationed amount of water, just two cups a day." He sighed heavily, "I almost regret the necessity of employing such methods, but I could take no chances with her until she becomes certain that I hold her irritating friend as hostage for her behaviour."

Patroclese was deep in thought, "Speaking of Gabrielle, sir. I would like permission to use her as a nurse for Xena."

"Not unless you have a compelling reason for such a request," stated Caesar bluntly, "I don't want to give Xena any chance, whatsoever, of making an escape. With the bard close to her hand, she might just be tempted. I'd far rather keep the pair as far apart as possible."

"In principle I agree with you sir," assured the healer, "but from the injuries and symptoms you have described, I think that I may need Gabrielle as a goad to make Xena want to stay alive." He went on to explain his thoughts, "I think Xena would allow herself to die if she could thwart you in doing so. What she won't allow is for Gabrielle to remain in your hands. She'll battle the harder to regain her health as soon as she knows beyond doubt that the bard is also held."

"I follow your reasoning," admitted Caesar but still sounded reluctant.

"Another reason is that Gabrielle, will not let the Warrior Princess abandon her life easily. There is a strong bond between the two, my lord, as you suspected. She will be an invaluable aid to me in this. Besides," he added persuasively, "From what you describe, Xena is in no condition to even sit up, let alone effect an escape from a heavily guarded cell. I'll monitor the Warrior Princess's recovery and as soon as I judge her to be regaining her strength, we can have the bard removed to a place of safety."

"Very well," agreed Caesar, "You can have the bard. Just make certain you keep her safe for my use. There's a medical orderly, Cornelius his name is, assigned to my special maniple. You should be able to make use of him. He seems a sound man."

"As you command, my Lord," agreed Patroclese as he bowed and turned to leave.

"Oh, Patroclese," Caesar called after him, plucking up the chakram once more to play with, "Congratulations on a job well done."

"My lord is gracious," smiled the healer as he bowed once more then quickly left the room heading for the dungeons.

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He had stopped off at his own quarters on the way to the prison. There he had picked up the pouch that contained his medical instruments and another that contained bandages, swabbing materials and a variety of herbs and medicinal decoctions that might prove useful. Caesar's description of his patient's condition sounded dire, and he knew that he had his work cut out for him.

He sent a runner for Cornelius to meet him in the dungeon with fresh water, the vinegar astringent, four charcoal braziers, half a dozen blankets and as many of the thick soft lounging pillows, from the officers quarters, that he could collect together. He also gave the orderly the authority to requisition such help as he needed in Caesar's name.

Having collected his equipment, Patroclese had hurried down to the cells, gaining entrance to the gaol only by using Caesar's authority himself. He had expected security to be tight, but had not realised just what lengths his master was willing to go to in ensuring that his prize remained in captivity. Flaccus had been notified to expect him by Caesar, but until he was identified by the centurion he was not admitted.

"Cornelius will be arriving with some more of the equipment that I require," the healer told the career soldier brusquely. "Before he gets here, I want to see your prisoner and evaluate the situation for myself."

"As you will, healer," acknowledged Flaccus with military briskness. It was known throughout the maniple that the physician was to join their elite band, and was to have total co-operation from the soldiers, on all matters medicinal regarding the slave.

Flaccus escorted the healer across the crowded guardroom to the cell where Xena lay without movement. Patroclese noted that six guards stood at attention watching the interior of the cell as if the hounds of Hades were within it, rather than one obviously very sick woman.

The Centurion took the key to the cell from around his neck and used it to unlock the door. The hinges squeaked as he pulled it open to admit the healer, and again as he shut the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. Patroclese turned and gave him a quizzical look. "Orders, healer," Flaccus responded to the unasked question, "The cell is to remained locked. Just call if you need to be let out."

Patroclese gave a slight nod and hurried over to his patient. He screwed his face into a wince as he looked at the bloody ruin of her back. Dried blood lay caked over the rib strapping and the visible cuts that showed the mottled discolouration of infection. He would have no idea of how bad that all was until he could get the wrappings off and the whole mess cleaned.

He noted Xena's shallow, laboured, breathing and the thick sheen of fever induced sweat soaking her whole body which was covered with the yellow, brown and purple remnants of the pummelling her frame had taken over a week previously. He gently turned her head so he could get a look at her face. The bruising and discolouration that covered the rest of her body was evident there also, and his fingers tingled with the raging heat of her fever that burned unchecked.

Taking a sharp knife from his instrument case, he used it to cut away the remnant of the garment she still wore and threw it behind her on the bench. Then, with infinite care and gentleness, he cut through the linen wraps around her torso and began the slow painful process of pulling the crusted mess of bandage, blood and oozing pus from her skin.

It took some time as he tried not to cause the unconscious woman any more agony than necessary. Once he had achieved his that aim, he allowed a livid hiss of exasperation to escape his lips. Xena's back was cris-crossed with bulging weals of putrid flesh where maggots feasted on the decay. Red and purple veins scattered haphazardly from the wounds visual proof of extensive infection.

Unable to start work on cleaning until the rest of the equipment he'd requested arrived, Patroclese made a careful examination of his patient to determine the extent of the rest of her injuries. He carefully ran his fingers down her sides, probing gently as he located the broken ribs. Three on the right side and five on the left one pressing dangerously against a lung. The dislocation of her left shoulder was obvious to the eye, and would be relatively easy to deal with once she was fit enough to take the strain. The damage around her eyes were healing, and the stitches in her lip and brow looked about ready to be removed.

A noise at the guardroom door, drew his attention away from his patient, and he turned to see, a small, wiry man, obviously Cornelius, lead a troop of soldiers in with the things he had ordered to be brought. Flaccus let the orderly into the cell, and the soldiers dumped the things they carried where Patroclese indicated. Turning to Cornelius, the healer said, "Clean her up as best you can. I need to be able to see just what more trouble is lying under all that muck. I'll be back in a few moments." As the healer left the cell he could her the little auxiliary speaking softly to the unconscious woman, "Easy there, pretty. We'll soon get you back to rights." He couldn't help but smile at the words, and wondered just what the Warrior Princess thought about anyone daring to call her 'pretty' as a term of address.

Flaccus responded to his call to be let out and escorted him as Patroclese led him through the iron gate into the main cell area. The healer led him down the length of the corridor to the last of the small cells on the right hand side and looked through the grill at the prisoner within.

Gabrielle sat in the seclusion of her prison and tried to utilize her time to compose the stories that she had been meaning to record, but had never seemed to have the time to do so before. She had been in Nemausus for four days now, the Roman ship that carried her had made good time. She knew her little cell intimately. It was no bigger than six foot by eight foot and held a small truckle bed, with a small table and chair that Patroclese had secured for her upon their arrival.

Thoughts of the healer made her angry once again, and all hope of composition was lost as she considered the treachery that had lead her into this fix. Patroclese had made a considerate gaoler, but he was still a gaoler and Caesar's pawn. The writing materials he had provided for her were mostly unused, as her mind whirled in too much of a turmoil to be able to concentrate on rhythm and metre. Most of what she had written was of little use, and she knew that she would be in no state to write until she knew what had happened to Xena.

She threw down her quill in disgust and buried her head in her hands as, for the thousandth time she dwelt on her concern for the Warrior Princess. - Where is she? Has she escaped Caesar's trap? Is she dead? - The uncertainty was becoming an inescapable torture that she generated for herself.

She heard the key grate in the lock of her cell door, and looked up to see who it could be. Patroclese normally visited her in the mid morning to check on her well being and see if she required anything. She knew by the candlemark that it was late. She had no window in her cell, but the candle that stood on her table had burned low, and by it she reckoned that night must have fallen.

The door opened admitting Patroclese and, behind him, standing in the open portal was a stern looking soldier whom she didn't recognise. The unexpected visit roused her curiosity somewhat, making her wonder what had brought him so late. Yet despite her interest in his visit, she met him with the angry glare that reminded him that she hadn't forgotten, or forgiven, his treachery.

"Gabrielle ...." Patroclese began, but was interrupted.

"You're here late. What's the matter? Guilty conscience keeping you from sleeping? Perhaps you can't face your dreams. Treacherous acts usually lead to bad dreams," she sniped acidly.

"Gabrielle ...." he tried again, but got no further.

"You know, you just might never sleep well again!" the bard sneered at him.

"Quiet, Gabrielle!" he snapped at her, using the tone of authority she had only heard him employ with the soldiers under his command on the trip here. He fixed her with a determined look as she subsided into rebellious resentfulness. "Xena's here," he told her getting her immediate and undivided attention, "and I need your help."

"Frightened she's going to beat you to a pulp?" she grinned smugly. "If you want me to intercede for you, you've got the wrong bard. I might just join in and help her."

"Gabrielle," he told her firmly, "She could be dying."

The bard looked at him for an instant as if he were speaking some foreign language to her, "What? What are you saying?" she demanded as she scrambled to her feet and tried to push past him.

Patroclese grabbed her shoulders and looked down into her eyes, explaining, "She was hurt when she was captured, Gabrielle. Badly hurt. And since then she hasn't been treated kindly."

"What did you expect from Caesar," she demanded shaking his hands off and wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand, trying to blink back her hard pressed emotions.

"Most of it was her own fault. She attacked Caesar, and tried to kill him, on her way here and was flogged for it. Her wounds haven't been treated. There's an infection and she's running a high fever. I don't think she's fighting it." He drew a breath as he told her, "She'll die unless we give her a reason to live. Will you help me keep her alive?"

Gabrielle looked at him blankly. - Do I have the right to make Xena endure life under Caesar's captivity? Am I being selfish wanting my best friend to survive? - Probably, but she knew that where there was life there would always be hope. She looked at Patroclese and nodded her assent.

The healer gestured for her to precede him, and her arm was grasped firmly by the silent soldier who had stood unobtrusively in the doorway during the conversation. She was taken down the corridor to the guardroom, which she barely registered as being full of soldiers as her hungry eyes sought out the location of the Warrior Princess.

Flaccus took her over to the cage cell and unlocked it to allow the bard and Patroclese to enter. Gabrielle stood just inside the cell door and looked at where Cornelius was working. The woman who lay naked on the stone bench looked only a little like Xena. Where the Warrior Princess was strong and physically impressive. The figure before her seemed like a poor imitation. She was gaunt, her broken ribs showing through taught flesh, her bruised features looked haggard from the fever that had left its obvious mark, and she could tell that she hadn't been eating. The brutality of the beatings she had taken had turned her flesh into a grotesque parody of the healthy skin that should be there.

Suddenly, as if aware of the bard's presence, the injured woman's eyes flickered open, revealing the startling blue orbs that Gabrielle knew so well, before falling heavily closed one more. Biting back a small cry of anguish, she rushed to Xena's side, and brushed aside the damp wisps of hair that clung to her face, "Xena," she said softly, "Don't do this to me again!"

At the sound of the bard's voice, the eyes opened once again, the blueness filled with fever, pain and confusion, "Gabrielle?" she breathed, "Promise, I prom..." before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

"He did this to her," Gabrielle said grimly.

"Forget that for now, Gabrielle" Patroclese told her, "We have work to do."

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Cornelius had done a good job of cleaning Xena's back of all the crusted blood, dirt and grime that had accumulated during the journey from Narbo. He'd even picked out the colony of maggots that he'd found feasting upon her. The partially sealed whip cuts that scored her back were now clearly visible. All showed signs of festering, several of them were discharging a pus like secretion, none of it looked healthy. The skin surrounding the infection was a violent red and purple colour that looked particularly ghastly against a background of the yellow and brown mottling of half healed bruises. It was the obvious source of the fever that was wracking her body.

"Get those brazier's lit," the healer ordered Cornelius, as he searched through his medicines for the powder he sought.

"All of them sir?" questioned the little orderly.

"Yes. We're going to have to break this fever before it kills her. I want this cell like an oven." Patroclese explained and watched Cornelius set off about the task.

The healer reached for a cup and the water skin closest to him. He uncorked it, sniffed the contents, recognising the astringent smell of vinegar, and replace the stopper, before getting the second skin and pouring a measure of water into the cup. He poured in some of the powder he had retrieved and shook the container to help dissolve it in the water.

"What's that?" asked Gabrielle suspiciously.

"It will help dull the pain for a while," he told her. "Get her to drink it all."

As Gabrielle climbed onto the bench and turned Xena so that she could coax the medicine into her, Patroclese turned to Cornelius and got him to bring one of the braziers close. As soon as he had it he began arranging several sharp bladed knives over the heat, "Has she drunk it all?" he questioned the bard, without looking at her, watching his instruments as the heat from the fire began to slowly turn the blades red.

"Yes," the blonde told him. "What are you going to do?"

"I've got to clear the source of the infection before it poisons her blood," he pointed to the red and purple skin that was forming around the wounds, "Unless we can clear out all of the infection, it will seep into her blood and be carried around her whole body. At that point there will be nothing we can do. As it is, we may be too late. That colouration is the beginning of the process. We can only hope that if we do a good job, her natural healing ability will pull her through."

He checked his knives and then snapped out, "Cornelius, come and help hold her down. Gabrielle, you're going to have to be strong here,' he warned.

He took one of the hot blades from the brazier and delicately began to open up the infected wounds, carefully expressing each area, removing all evidence of the infection that he could find. The work was long and arduous and agonizing for the patient, even with the pain killing potion that Patroclese had provided. Gabrielle could feel Xena's torment as she writhed weakly beneath her hands. The fact that the bard had no difficulty in restraining the Warrior Princess, showed just how weakened Xena truly was. Gabrielle had no idea how long it took Patroclese to complete his task, but it seemed to take candlemarks that were filled with the stench of infection and burning flesh as the hot knives seared the wounds.

When at length he had finished, he took the skin containing the vinegar wash and liberally doused the raw wounds of Xena's back with the biting liquid that would serve to help kill any infection remaining. Xena cried out in pain as the astringent bit into her, but did not regain consciousness.

With the first stage of the treatment completed, Gabrielle relaxed a little. As Patroclese checked through his kit, the bard noticed, really for the first time, the shackles that her friend bore. She looked at the healer and asked, "Are those really necessary?"

"First rule, Gabrielle," he told her, "under no circumstances is the Warrior Princess to be released from her restraints. She's far too dangerous to give her the slightest edge. No, she stays chained and we work around it."

Gabrielle knew that there was nothing that she could say or do to influence a change in that decision. Xena's reputation was what dictated such measures and Caesar would take no chances with her. She leant forward to pick up and discard the bloody and torn shift that still lay next to them on the bench. As her fingers grasped the material, she felt Xena's hand clench around her wrist, and she looked down to see her friends blue eyes on her.

Gabrielle gave her friend a puzzled frown, but reading her friend's need she shielded her from unfriendly observation, while the warrior ran her shaking fingers over the scraps of material, until she found and retrieved the metal toothpick that she had paid so dearly to secure. She slipped the pick into the hem of the blanket that she was laying on, gave the bard a weak smile and lightly squeezed her hand, before her eyes shut once more. Gabrielle gathered up the tattered cloth and threw it onto the nearest brazier, before wiping sweat from her brow. It was beginning to get very warm within the cell and the guardroom.

She watched as Patroclese began to smear a pungent smelling salve over the open wounds. Then he picked out some rolls of bandages and told the bard and Cornelius, "We need to get her sitting up. She's got a lot of broken ribs that need to be strapped to support them and make it easier for her to breathe, and the strapping should help guard against a reoccurrence of infection in some of those whip cuts .. if we keep a regular check on them."

Carefully, with gentle slowness, Cornelius and Gabrielle managed to lift Xena into a sitting position on the bench. Then the pair gently lifted the warriors arms so that Patroclese could get to work with the strapping, "Be careful of that left shoulder, he warned, "it's dislocated and likely very sore."

"Can't you put it back into place?" demanded Gabrielle.

"Not until her ribs have healed a bit," explained Patroclese patiently, "I'm going to need to lever it back into situation and those ribs need to mend before we try that," he smiled. Having finished wrapping the tight linen around Xena's ribs, he instructed, "Keep her upright while I do something for those sores around her wrists, where the chains bite."

He carefully bathed the wrists in the vinegar solution, where the chaffing manacles had open raw sores, before smearing the thick salve around them and binding them with fresh bandages. He then did the same for her ankles. Once finished, Patroclese and Cornelius arranged the thick, stuffed cushions, that had been brought, on the bench before covering them with one of the new blankets.

Xena was laid carefully onto the cushions, "She needs to rest on her back to help those ribs," he explained, "but the cushions should help her protect her a little." He then took the other five blankets and wrapped them around the Warrior Princess tightly, before telling Cornelius, "Go and get a pot of good vegetable broth from the kitchen. No meat mind," he warned. The medical orderly left, and Patroclese mixed another cup of water with a powder from his kit, "Here get her to swallow this," he instructed the bard, "but slowly, just a sip at a time. It should help her to fight the fever, but shouldn't be taken too much in one go."

Gabrielle settled on the nest of cushions with Xena's head in her lap. She occasionally poured some of the concoction in the cup between her friends lips, and spent the rest of the time gently soothing her fevered brow. After a while, she became aware of those blue eyes looking up at her, "Hey. How y'doing?" she asked softly.

"Oh, fine, " came the weak reply with the ghost of a smile, "I thought I'd left you with the Amazons."

"Long story," Gabrielle told her neutrally, "I'll tell you about it when your stronger."

Xena nodded slightly and leaned into the bard's protective arms. Gabrielle brushed a stray wisp of hair away from her friends closed eyes. It felt odd to be in the position of protector .. that was normally Xena's role. But she intended to act out the part to the best of her ability.

Patroclese leaned over them and touched his hand to Xena's brow and then felt the pulse at her throat. He brought the braziers closer making the heat surrounding the pair almost unbearable. Catching Gabrielle's look the healer told her, "We must break that fever quickly. She's too weak for it to run it's normal course. We need to force the issue if we are to have any chance of saving her."

Cornelius returned with the vegetable broth which was placed by one of the braziers to keep warm, "When the fever breaks, and she wakes, she'll be hungry. She can have a little of the broth, but only in small amounts. She hasn't had any food for a week and her system won't be able to handle it."

The rest of the night was spent in a hellish nightmare of artificial heat designed to drive the fever from the delerious woman. Gabrielle stayed awake, making sure that Xena got as much fluid as Patroclese deemed necessary. The healer hovered protectively, checking on the fever's progress, while Cornelius curled up out of the way, but ready to respond to any order.

All three had worked their best to ensure that the warrior had her chance to fight for life, and all three were past tiredness and well into the realms of exhaustion. None of them slept other than for fitful dozes, passing the night , following day and the next night with slowly increasing concern as the fever continued to build within the restlessly stirring woman they watched over.

Just after cock crow on the second morning, Patroclese checked, yet again, on Xena and a slow, cautious smile split his lips, "I think the fever's broken," he announced.

"Thank the gods!" Gabrielle offered up a heartfelt prayer, the healer's words rousing her from an opened eyed stupor, and brushed her lips over Xena's hot, but cooler brow.

Chapter Sixteen: Promises, Promises!
Slowly, the irritating buzzing of noise that nudged at her brain, coaxed her back from the nightmare realms she had inhabited for what seemed forever. She had vague memories of movement, and people .. and Gabrielle, but they all seemed unreal; part of a dreamscape, perhaps, bent towards her destruction.

She allowed her eyes to flicker open and they lazily focused on a sleeping face. A beloved face. A face that, at one time, she believed she would never see again. Xena allowed a faint trace of tenderness creep into her eyes as she gazed up at the motionless bard. Gradually, she realized that she lay with her head in Gabrielle's lap, - That's a change! - she thought ironically.

As she lay still, so as not to disturb the bard, she became aware that she was being roasted alive by suffocating blankets. Trying to move gently, Xena attempted work her arms out from within the swaddling, only to find that her strength wasn't up to the effort, - Gods! - she swore to herself, - A new born kitten has got more strength than I have! -

Weak as Xena's struggles had been, they were enough to jolt the bard into wakefulness. She looked down at the Warrior Princess, concern written large in her expressive eyes as she studied her friend for any sign of the reoccurrence of fever, and found none. She smiled. It was an expression full of love and worry and it dazzled Xena with it's brilliance, "Hi there," said the bard.

"Hi, yourself," the warrior greeted weakly.

"Glad to have you back with us," Gabrielle told her, "You had me worried there, for a while."

There wasn't a lot that Xena could say to that, so she struggled again to free herself from the confinement of the sweltering blankets, "Can you get these off of me, Gabrielle?" she asked in frustration when she failed to achieve her aim, "It's like the inside of an oven in here." Her voice was a little hoarse but gaining in strength.

"Patroclese said that you were to remain wrapped up," the bard told her firmly. "He said a chill on top of that fever would probably kill you now. He still doesn't know how you managed to survive anyway."

"The healer's here?" questioned the Warrior Princess as she turned her head, and registered the bars of the cell for the first time. "Where is here, anyway? and how long have I been out of it?" she asked irritably. She hated the feeling of disorientation she was experiencing.

"We're in the Roman barracks in the city of Nemausus," Gabrielle told her, "and yes, Patroclese is here too. He's the reason I'm here, Xena. He's Caesar's man, and he lead us both into Caesar's trap. You've been here five days with a raging fever. The worst of it broke the second night, but it's taken until now for you to fight it off," she said carefully feeling her friends forehead pleased that her skin had cooled considerably.

The news didn't surprise the Warrior Princess. She regretted the healer's part in the affair, she had rather liked him. But all the parts now fell into place and made perfect sense to her, "Well, it's no good worrying about what's past. We've got to work on a plan to get out of here."

"Well, there's no point in worrying about that until we get you back on your feet. At the moment you can't even fight your way out of your blankets, let alone out of this cell and through all the guards," Gabrielle pointed out.

A look of determination flared in Xena's eyes as she focused her will and began to wriggle, trying to work her arms free, just to show Gabrielle that she was not going to be treated like a helpless invalid ... even if she was one!

"Quit that Xena," the bard told her firmly, or I'll call Cornelius in to help me snag you up in those blankets so tight you'll never get out." She watched anxiously as the Warrior Princess continued to struggle. "One of these days I'm going to learn to keep my mouth shut," she muttered, knowing that her friend found it impossible to resist a challenge. "Well not this time, Xena." she told her and drew a breath to call the little orderly who had left the cell to get some sleep in one of the bunks close by.

"Alright, alright, you win," growled Xena testily, more over the fact that she wasn't making much headway as for Gabrielle's threat.

"That's a first!" the bard told her with feeling. She looked at her friend and tried to warn her, "Xena, you've got to try and stop fighting the whole world. One of these days it's going to fall on you."

"Funny, from where I'm laying it feels like it already did." grumbled the irritated warrior.

A commotion amongst the guards, as the cell block door was opened, revealed the return of Patroclese who had left about a candlemark before Xena awoke to inform Caesar of the current medical situation. Xena turned her head to watch the confident young man stride across the outer chamber, escorted by Flaccus. The Centurion unlocked the cell door and swung it open to the normal accompanying screech of the hinges, before closing and locking it after the healer entered.

Patroclese moved directly to where Xena lay, and quickly felt her brow with a cool hand, "Warm, but that's only to be expected. The fever has finally broken. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," admitted Xena, "and like a herd of centaurs just ran over me."

"That's to be expected too, considering what you've been through," he told her professionally.

Xena looked at him with a cold icy glare, "Tell me about it," she said chillingly. "It seems your responsible for all of this."

"No," he replied mildly and with self assurance, "I just followed my masters orders. All of the injuries you have suffered you brought on yourself. Weren't you offered the chance to surrender?"

She wasn't going to answer that! She also couldn't blame him, fairly, for his part in bringing about this situation. He was right. He was doing his master's bidding and had no real part in the intense animosity she felt for Caesar who bore the responsibility for all of this.

Patroclese moved to where the fresh batch of vegetable broth had been kept warm since being brought to the cell at first light. He ladled out a half a bowl full for Xena, and a larger amount which he gave to Gabrielle, "I'll feed her while you have something to eat," he told the bard. "You're not going to be able to nurse her if you collapse from lack of sleep and food."

"I slept!" objected the blonde indignantly.

"How much?" questioned the healer as he sat on the edge of the bench and carefully began to spoon some of the broth into the Warrior Princess.

"Some," admitted the bard reluctantly, "I wasn't tired," she told him defiantly as she tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a betraying yawn.

"Uh huh," Patroclese said.

Both of the women ate their lunch and Xena thirstily drank down a measure of water that the healer allowed her, Patroclese decided that it was time to check on her wounds, "I don't like having to undo those strappings around the ribs, " he told her, but I've got to make sure that we got out all the infection from those whip cuts." With Gabrielle's help, the healer released Xena from her prison of blankets and helped her to sit up. Her breathing became a bit shallow and ragged as the pain from the ribs bit, and a bead of perspiration dripped from her forehead and down her nose.

Patroclese took a small pair of scissors and, carefully, cut through the bandages and gently peeled them off where they had stuck to the wound's bloody furrows. With Gabrielle supporting her friend from the front, Patroclese scrambled up onto the bench and began to gently probe the wounds to check them for any sign of festering and inflammation. Xena winced involuntarily as his fingers worked over a particularly tender spot.

"Looking better," he told them, quietly satisfied as he began to smooth salve over the wounds again. When he had finished, he wrapped fresh bandages tightly around her ribs once again.

Between them, they got Xena laying back comfortably on the cushions once more and, despite her voluble protests, snared her once again in the blankets, "She's never been a very good patient," Gabrielle said scoldingly. "She's great at making sure others follow her medical advice, but she hopeless when it comes to taking it herself."

"That I can see," agreed Patroclese. He gave Xena, who still struggled weakly to free herself, a thoughtful look, "I think I can fix it so that she lies still and gets some rest,' he told the bard as he prepared a cup of water mixed with another powder.

"Will you two stop talking about me as if I'm not here," growled the disgruntled and reluctant patient, "It's ... it's rude," she told them in annoyance. She looked suspiciously at the cup in the healer's hand, "What's that?"

"Just a sleeping draft. You need to rest without all the struggling." he told her.

Xena looked rebellious, "I've had enough sleep to last me a lifetime," she glowered.

"You have a choice here," Patroclese told her calmly, "Either you can drink this down of your own choice. Or I can call half a dozen guards in here with a funnel and force feed it to you."

Gabrielle took the cup from him and said, "C'mon Xena, You want to be up on your feet as quickly as possible, don't you?"

Giving both Patroclese and the bard a withering glare, Xena drank the potion down without further resistance. Within just a short while, she found her eyes drifting shut as a deep, dreamless sleep claimed her, and allowed her body the rest it needed to begin it's healing work.

**********

Over the next few days, life for the two prisoners fell into a routine that involved eating, sleeping, checking on wounds and re-dressing them. Xena began to remain awake a little longer each day, and it was evident that her inner healing was diverting all of it's efforts to mend the wide collection of wounds and injuries that afflicted her. Also, although it was a slow process, bit by bit strength began to return to her weakened limbs.

Passing the time was spent in trading news of how they had been captured, remembering happier times and occasionally brooding darkly about the future. Gabrielle did her best to chivy Xena out of those moods, but the feel of the shackles and more especially, the slave collar, caused a bleakness to settle into her friend that was hard to dispel.

By the seventh day, after Patroclese had cleansed the infection from her back, he was pleased to announce that, not only had the flesh knitted together healthily, he fully expected there to be none of the scarring that normally remained after a flogging. Also, after gently probing the areas of the broken ribs he had found that they were setting satisfactorily. Her breathing had improved with the ribs' mending, and although they remained a little sore he made the decision to refrain from strapping them again.

"Do you feel up to me trying to put that dislocated shoulder back in place?" asked the healer as he packed up his equipment.

When Xena nodded her agreement, Patroclese called for Cornelius to join him. The little medical auxiliary had fussed around Xena over the past five days like a broody hen with just one chick. Gabrielle had had to cover the smile that sprang to her lips every time she heard the little man call her big intimidating friend, "Pretty," and had earned more than one icy look from Xena in the process.

With Xena sitting on one end of the bench, Cornelius sat on the other and took a firm grasp of the Warrior Princess's left arm, before raising a booted foot to brace under it. The manacles complicated things but they worked it out.

"Wait a moment," Patroclese ordered hopping up on the bench behind Xena's back. He worked an edge of blanket between Cornelius's boot and the woman's unprotected skin, "Now when I say go, pull strong and steady. The joint's been out for quite a while, so it probably won't go back easily. I'll manipulate it from above, you just keep the strain constant, understand?" he asked the little man.

"Yes sir," agreed Cornelius. He smiled at Xena, "You ready, pretty?"

The Warrior Princess glowered as Gabrielle covered a smirk with a cough, "Do it!" she told him firmly.

Cornelius leant back and pushed with his foot, seeking to draw the joint apart from where it lay, a bit like a rack would work. Patroclese probed with strong fingers looking to guide the joint back into it's true socket. Finally, after an agonisingly long session, and with an audible "Pop!", the shoulder sprang back into it's correct alignment.

"Ahhhh!" Xena yelled as the joint was reconnected. It had hurt worse than she had bargained for, and she knew the arm would be all but useless for a day or so as it recovered from it's rough treatment.

**********

The following day, with a blanket wrapped around her nakedness, Xena stood for the first time since being dragged unconscious into the cell. She leaned heavily on Gabrielle and the pair talked in low voices, trying to keep their conversation as private as possible. They knew it wouldn't be long, now, before Caesar removed the bard to a place he considered safe. She was his trump card. With Gabrielle safe within his power, Xena could be compelled to conform to his wishes, whatever they might prove to be.

Taking, cautious, deliberate steps, Gabrielle supported the Warrior Princess as she shuffled around the entire twelve foot square area of the cell. Xena's legs were weak and unco-operative, from their long period of inactivity. She felt unsteady and light headed after her illness, but it could no longer be doubted that she was mending fast.

"Well, at least we've got you back on your feet," encouraged Gabrielle.

"Uh huh," agreed the dark haired woman as she gritted her teeth and concentrated on staying upright.

"Any chance that you might be able to summon up that power from Chin and blast a way out of here for us?" the bard asked more in jest than expectation, knowing that her friend had never been able to recreate the incredible feat.

Xena shook her head, and explained, "I think I have to be empty of all emotion. Just now I'm filled with a raging hatred and a desire for revenge." she looked at the bard, "I know you think that revenge isn't the answer, and that we need to find forgiveness in our hearts, but I don't think I can, Gabrielle. Not for him. Not for all he's done," she said bitterly.

"I understand," the blonde told her, "and I can't blame you for that. I know how hard it is for you. But for your sake I wish you could set it aside." She was rewarded with a blank stare and knew that now was not the right time to be preaching forgiveness to her friend.

They took a few more heavy steps as the bard gathered her thoughts to ask the question that had been bothering her since she first saw the Warrior Princess here, "Xena?" she asked hesitantly, and looked full into the blue eyes of her friend as she turned her head towards the bard, "Were you trying to die?" There was an almost indefinable look of hurt lurking in the shadows of the blonde's eyes, that her friend identified immediately.

They had reached the starting point of their walk and the warrior sank gratefully back onto the bench before answering her friend's question, "I don't think so," she answered slowly, unsure in her own mind whether she had been or not.

"You don't think so?" pressed the bard who needed more of an answer than that.

Xena put her hand on the bards shoulder and looked at her full in the eyes to show that she wasn't trying to hide anything, "I think I had in mind that Caesar wants me for something. I didn't think he'd let me die until he had achieved what he wanted from me. I suppose if I'd have been willing to beg him for treatment, food and water, he would have been delighted to give it. But I'll ask nothing of him, Gabrielle, not now. Not ever." she said that with a voice like granite, "So, I suppose the whole thing became a test of will and nerves," she said with a rueful grin and finished with, "I won this time ... I think!"

"Xena, what if he'd decided that he didn't want you after all?" asked Gabrielle in concern. "Patroclese wasn't certain that he'd be able to save you, even at the time he began treating you. If it had been another day ...." her voice trailed off.

The Warrior Princess looked at the bard with a hint of compassion in those, oh so blue, eyes, before saying almost too softly for Gabrielle to hear, "I think Caesar miscalculated, but it might have been for the best."

The bard rounded on her, green eyes blazing with anger and more than a touch of fear, "Don't you say that!" she growled with a terrifying intensity, "Don't you ever say that!" She punched Xena's right shoulder to emphasise her point. "Too many people rely on you ... need you," Gabrielle swallowed hard to stop the tears from flowing, "I need you," she told her, " and you promised me!"

The chains clanked as Xena rubbed her arm where the bard had hit her. It hadn't really hurt, but the atmosphere had suddenly become way too tense and the Warrior Princess felt an instinctive need to back off and lighten the atmosphere that surrounded them, "Go on," she said with a small grin, "hit a woman when she can't defend herself." She watched as the anger slowly washed from Gabrielle's eyes although more than a tinge of concern remained in evidence.

"Xena, we will get out of this, somehow," the bard promised.

"Of course," agreed Xena with a false heartiness that didn't fool the bard at all.

"You know, we may get some help," Gabrielle told her seriously.

"Sure," agreed the Warrior Princess moodily, "Ares will show up any time now and promise to free us if I agree to return to him and lead his army."

"No I'm being serious," the bard told her in a barely audible voice. "I had a vision ... kind of ... before I left the Amazons, and it scared me so much that I sent off three letters before heading out to try and catch you."

Xena looked at her with curiosity. She knew her bard friend had occasional flashes of the future, so she was not about to make light of what she said, "Who to? and what for?" she asked.

Gabrielle got a distant look in her eyes, "I had this feeling, a premonition, a vision, something," she tried to describe. "Whatever it was I felt that something was going to go very wrong, so I sent out those letters. One to Toris," she ignored the vexed look from Xena, "another to Iolaus and the last one to Autolycus."

"There's no great chance that they'll come," Xena said seriously, and tried to hide a faint grin as she said, "Autolycus?" in partial disbelief.

Gabrielle grinned and shrugged spreading her hands, "I know it's a long shot, but ...."

"Autolycus?" grinned Xena again. Gabrielle just shrugged and both broke into grudging laughter at the thought of the thief coming to their rescue.

**********

When Patroclese turned up the next morning to check on his patient, it was clear that he was pleased with the progress that Xena was showing. He got her to raise her arms above her head, which she was able to do for the first time without help, and his probing fingers soon ascertained that the ribs were once more whole and strong. He shook his head in disbelief, "Eleven days ago you were on your way to Charon's boat," he told her. I've never seen anyone who could heal as quickly as you do."

"I've lead a tough life," Xena told him flatly, "and I've learned a few things along the way," she said thinking back to Lao Ma and all that she had been taught and shown by that incredible woman. "Now you've finished prodding and poking me, don't you think it's time that I got some clothes?" she demanded, "A blanket is all very well, but it's hardly the height of fashion, even in a place like this." She gave a very definite glare at the six sentinels that stood, as ever, watching her every move.

Patroclese let a faint smile ghost across his lips as he pulled a pair of cloth trousers and a creamy wool shirt from a bag he'd been carrying, "These should fit you well enough, and you'll find them more functional than one of those shifts you wear."

"My leathers would be better," she told him flatly.

"Not a chance," he grinned.

Xena bared her teeth at him in what could be taken as a smile, but any humour in it failed to reach her cold eyes. She was still not fully certain of her attitude towards Patroclese. He had a manner she liked, and there was something in him that she appreciated, perhaps a form of integrity. The god's knew he had betrayed her and Gabrielle to Caesar, but as he was already Caesar's man, could it really count as betrayal? The Warrior Princess reserved her opinion of him.

"Might be a touch difficult getting the clothes on over these," she told him as she rattled her chains at him.

"Yes," agreed the healer with a perfectly straight face, "that problem had not escaped my attention." He looked at Xena as if assessing his options. "There is a standing order that you are never to be released from those shackles without direct authority from my Lord Caesar." He made eye contact with her penetrating, clear, blue, gaze that could cause such fear when she chose. "If you give me your word not to attempt some futile escape, or resist being re-shackled, I have the authority to release you while you dress."

Xena's eyes flicked over Patroclese to the six guards alert around the cell, to the rest of the forty garrisoned within the guardroom. Added that she was barely strong enough to stand on her own, so even if she could batter down a locked cell door she doubted very much, with the best will in the world, that she'd be able to fight her way clear of the guards before the noise brought a hundred more men running! "Agreed," she told him, "You have my word."

Patroclese produced a key and unlocked the left wrist cuff of her manacles, allowing Xena to pull the shirt over her head and work her arms in, with Gabrielle guiding the chain and cuff through the sleeve. Once it was on, Xena fixed the healer with a cold stare and held up her wrists for Patroclese to snap the chain back into place. The same process was followed with the leg irons with a minimum of fuss.

"What about some boots," asked Xena, wriggling the toes of her bare feet.

"Sorry, that's all you get," shrugged the healer. "I'll be back this afternoon, just to check that you haven't taken too much out of yourself with the walking this morning."

As Patroclese left, Gabrielle admired Xena's new 'look', "Different," she said, and after another considering inspection, "Suits you."

"Yeah, well," drawled Xena unconvinced, "its better than nothing, as I well know, and it's a lot warmer too." She wriggled her toes again, "Pity about the boots, though."

"Oh yeah," grinned the bard, "they know how hard you can kick with boots on." She sat down close to the Warrior princess and said in a whisper, "Xena, if you've got any ideas of how to get us out of here, I think we'd better discuss them soon," an urgent note registered in her tone, "I don't think they're going to let me stay with you much longer."

The tall, dark haired warrior rubbed her friends arm in a reassuring gesture, ignoring the clank of the chains as a minor irritation,"I think they'll move you this afternoon when Patroclese comes back, " she agreed. "I'm back on my feet now and healing fast. they'll want you safe so that they can use you to hold me. Caesar won't want to take the chance that I'll get loose and break you free at the same time. In fact I'm surprised that they've let you stay so long." She tensed her muscles, testing her strength against the metal of the chains, "Perhaps Patroclese thinks I'm still too weak to put up a fight."

"Xena, you're barely able to stand up on your own. I think Patroclese might be right." She saw the dangerous glint in the Warrior Princess's eyes that said she'd rise to the challenge, "Don't even think about it, Xena," the bard warned. "You've only just started to mend. I want you to promise me that you'll wait until you're fit enough to stand a chance of success."

Xena had that stubborn look that the bard knew only too well, "Gabrielle, if there's any chance ...." she began.

"That's just the point," the bard broke in quickly, "there isn't any chance. So I want you to promise me that you'll wait," she insisted.

"Gabrielle ...."

"No, Xena. I want that promise," repeated the bard.

A look of angry frustration flickered across the Warrior Princess's features. She knew that she had to make the promise or Gabrielle would nag at her for the rest of the time they had together and she didn't want that, "I promise," she said reluctantly.

The bard smiled in relief, "I don't know what's going to happen to us, Xena. But let's try and make sure we survive if we can. You can't make Caesar pay if you get yourself killed you know," she said shrewdly hitting Xena's weak spot.

"I know," agreed the warrior, "Believe me I know."

To Be Continued - 17 - 21

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