The whole afternoon had been torturous. The motion of the horse was akin to that of a ship, making her uncomfortably queasy and forcing her to jab at the pressure point in her wrist to keep herself from throwing up, not an advisable action whilst wearing a gag. Laying across the thighs of a brawny young warrior was not exactly comfortable, either. Especially as his hands had wandered, in an exploratory fashion, over her thighs and just under her skirt, before he was roughly warned off by Mavrikios when the bard began to wriggle and curse through her gag.

"Keep your hands off her, Gregorias," the warlord warned menacingly. "The contract is to deliver her whole and unharmed."

"Aw, this won't harm her," grinned her guard, "She might even like it," he laughed.

Mavrikios gave him a cold glare, - That definitely was an imitation of one of Xena's, - the bard noted mentally, - Wonder if he studied her, or if there's a warlord's handbook out there that they learn from. Hey! - she suddenly, irreverently, thought, - I bet there's a warlord school, and I just know who came top of her class when she graduated! - She allowed herself a grin while she listened to Mavrikios as he dressed Gregorias down.

"It might not harm her," snarled the warlord in a deadly tone, "but I guarantee that you won't enjoy it when I have you castrated with a very dull knife! So keep your hands to yourself." He jerked his horses head away as he moved back to the head of the column.

The warning had done it's job, so at least she didn't have to be worried about being assaulted as they travelled, and Mavrikios had pretty much made it clear that she wasn't to be touched by anyone, so her worrying visions of being raped were also allayed ... at least for a while. The rest of the afternoon was eaten up by continuous motion as they moved forward to the planned camp site for that evening.

Things had not noticeably improved with the evening stop. True, she had a place by the fire, but she resented the leg iron that secured her to a stake like some kind of sacrificial lamb. It was also true that she had been given food .. if that's what it could be loosely called .. and water, stale and leathery from a skin, but now she had another problem.

She looked around the crowded campsite and quickly spotted the area that she wanted to visit. Without thinking she started to head towards it, only to stumble when the chain brought her up short, "Oh gods," she swore softly. She bit her lip and tugged tentatively on the chain as her need began to become desperate.

"Going somewhere?" demanded Mavrikios, suddenly appearing at her shoulder.

Gabrielle gave him a level look, and moved uneasily from one foot to another a pained look of worry entering her eye, before saying, "Um, I know that in your own unique way you're trying to look after my safety," she told him with sweet sarcasm as she rattled her manacled wrists at him, "and I know that you've made every effort to see that I don't exhaust myself on this journey," she looked meaningfully at the horses, "but I think you've overlooked something."

"Oh yeah! What could that be?" he retorted, ignorantly secure in the knowledge that he was sure he'd thought of everything.

"I need to use the bathroom," she told him simply. She wasn't totally sure, but she thought she detected a slight reddening around his neck.

"Ah ... right," he conceded with embarrassment, "Metracles!" he snapped out, and one of the older warriors moved promptly to hear what his commander wanted. The man's face was scarred and he limped from what was probably an old wound, but he looked strong and as if he knew how to handle himself, "Take our 'guest' over to the bushes, will you." He handed Metracles the key to the leg iron and continued, "Give her some privacy, but don't lose her." he warned.

- Better than nothing - thought the bard as she practically dragged the mercenary in the desired direction and flew into the bushes embracing the ecstasy of relief.

Metracles stood screened on the other side of the greenery, whistling tunelessly as he stood holding the leg iron that insured the bard could not sneak off. It was taking Gabrielle some time and the warrior began to get impatient with his own needs, "You about done yet?" he demanded.

"With you in a moment," agreed Gabrielle, the glimmer of an idea beginning to take root in her fertile mind.

The guard urged her speedy return from the bushes, and as they returned to the fire, Gabrielle noted, with great interest, that a couple of scuffles had broken out around the camp and she saw more than a few uncleared plates from the evening meal. Metracles rechained her leg iron to the stake and made a quick dash to the bushes before he went back to the dice game he'd been involved with before being hauled out of it. Gabrielle sat with a thoughtful look on her face before deciding to act on the germinating seed that was beginning to grow.

Facing the group of warriors, who were relaxing on the opposite side of the fire from her, she proceeded to turn on all of her considerable charm and initiated the conversation by asking them,"Is the food normally this bad, or was it done specially for me?"

"T'weren't food. T'was but pig swill," one of them replied and many of the others joined in with half-hearted laughs or growling grumbles.

>From the unhappy replies she'd soon learned that the army's cook had been laid low with a fever some days back and the food had been appalling ever since as no one else had any idea how to boil water! Having tasted Xena's cooking, Gabrielle knew that warriors didn't spend much time learning how to prepare food, they relied on a cook for that. However, they were always ready to grumble when their meals were not up to standard, and the bard thought that she could see a way to exploit that.

Skilfully, she set about manipulating the conversation so that she could regale the warriors with the splendours of some of the feasts that she's seen and eaten, and eventually gave descriptions of some of the more humble fare that she had prepared for herself and Xena.

"At King Gregor's palace we had a wonderful feast to celebrate the announcement of his heir, Prince Gabriel, and in Troius, King Lias always served a wonderful delicacy called croesis. Xena just loved those, although to be fair, Xena really appreciates my cooking, in fact she's told me on numerous occasions that she wished she'd known me when her army was looking for a cook," that was a blatant lie, Xena would rather have been hung from a meat hook than even think of the bard as part of her army.

Mention of the Warrior Princess, however, tended to dampen the soldiers good spirits and put them on edge. Seeking away to continue the conversation and plant some more seeds for her plan, Gabrielle dropped the information that she was a bard into the chatter, in case they hadn't been aware. This brought an immediate demand for a story and she was happy to oblige them, launching into the tale of Hercules and his on going battle with Hera, strategically adding wonderful descriptions of glorious, mouth watering food, at every chance she got. The performance began to draw a larger audience and they clamoured for another story as soon as she finished her recital.

Smiling good naturedly, Gabrielle agreed, carefully avoiding full blown stories about her best friend, seeking to introduce her into the narrations once the audience was firmly hooked. Choosing artfully, she plunged into the story of Ulysses. "I sing the song of Ulysses, King of Ithaca, husband of Penelope, father of Telemachus. This great King was a mighty warrior, renowned for his bravery, wisdom and cunning," she began.

The gifted bard wove a tale of his feats: of his great sea adventures, when Aeolus, the Guardian of the Winds, gave him a bag that contained all the winds that might harm the king's ship, only his curious crew opened the bag releasing the winds and changed a prosperous voyage into a disaster. How the great Ulysses was reluctant to take part in the Trojan war and so tried to make his fellow kings believe he was mad, but was foiled by Palamedes who proved him sane. How the King of Ithaca proved his greatness in the Trojan war and was awarded the armour of Achilles when that great hero was slain. How it was the trickster king's idea to use a hollow horse to gain entrance to the city of Troy, and for the Greeks at last to win the long war.

>From there, Gabrielle told how he had fallen foul of Poseidon's wrath as he tried to travel back to his kingdom and, of course, his meeting with Xena and how she had helped to defeat Poseidon and return the King of Ithaca to his island home in time to rescue his wife, Penelope, from the piratical suitors who were attempting to lay claim to Ithaca at the Sea God's behest.

At the end of that story, the talented bard quickly launched into another Xena tale, telling of her near miraculous, single handed, defeat of the elite Persian scouts, that gave the Athenian army the time it needed to assemble and march to protect their land from the invaders. The bard kept a careful eye on her audience, gauging their reactions, which seemed to become increasingly those of very nervous men as she spun the heroic deeds of Xena into a tapestry of words that brought them to life. It was becoming increasingly plain that these warriors were not at all sure that they wanted to face an angry Warrior Princess!

She was half way through the story of Xena's titanic battle with Ares to prove to the Furies that the God of War was her father, when there was a stir in the crowd as Mavrikios pushed his way through them. "What are you sitting around here for?" he demanded, "You've all got things to attend to. Alexandros, you were supposed to relieve Thomases on guard half a candlemark ago!"

There were loud grumblings as the gathering broke up. The warriors had enjoyed a rare evening of entertainment, even if some of the tales did make them uneasy. Now with the stories finished, conversation naturally drifted back to food and some of the descriptions that Gabrielle had spun of wonderful offerings. The grumbling was loud and heartfelt.

Mavrikios scowled as his men dispersed, before turning to the bard and demanding, "What have you been saying to my men?"

Nothing much," she replied with a bright innocence that really made Mavrikios burn with suspicion, "I just told them a few stories to pass the time ... oh yes, and we talked about the food. What we've just had really wasn't very good you know, and I think your men expect better."

"Have you been stirring up trouble with them," quizzed Mavrikios, who was well aware of the men's feeling about the quality of the meals currently being served, and was distinctly defensive about it, "because if you have, I can always have you permanently gagged!"

"Look, all I did was tell a few stories and compare notes with them about some of the meals we've eaten. It's not my fault if your cook's a professional poisoner!"

"You think you could do better?" he demanded in frustration.

"Without a doubt," grinned the bard, "Even Xena could, and she hates cooking." It was pushing it, but unless Mavrikios had ever tried any of the Warrior Princess's culinary delights he wouldn't know how far she was stretching the truth with that statement.

Mavrikios threw his hands into the air in frustration, "The army's cook is down with a fever and no one else here can cook worth a damn, so get used to it." He glared around the camp at his men, who instantly found other things to occupy their attention.

"You know, unless the food improves, you're going to have a mutiny," Gabrielle pointed out.

"Are you looking for the job?" he asked in disbelief, before his eyes narrowed and he asked her pointedly, "I'd have thought you'd have been cheering my men on to desert. It would give Xena a better chance of rescuing you."

"I like to watch a good fight," she told him seriously. "The odds are about fair right now, Xena doesn't like things too easy. "No, I'm far more concerned with surviving to be rescued and, quite honestly, that looks pretty touch and go at the moment with what I'm being given to eat. Besides, I'm a pretty mean hand with a stew."

"By the gods you're irritating," he snarled at her, "Don't you ever stop talking?' he demanded, frustration evident in his tone.

"Oh I have been known to be quiet on occasion .. particularly after a good filling meal," she stressed pointedly.

"You're up to something," the mercenary leader's mind was working overtime on what the girl could be trying to achieve and suspicion was second nature to his devious mind.

"Of course I am!" agreed Gabrielle wholeheartedly, taking him by surprise.

"I knew it!" snapped Mavrikios triumphantly, although he was far from sure what it was that he was claiming to know. "Just what were you hoping to achieve .. were you spreading dissent? Trying to get the men to mutiny?"

The bard grinned at him, "Something far more satisfying than that," she informed him pleasantly, "Wanna know what?"

The warrior glared at her with frustration, "Alright!" he yelled, drawing the attention of his men, who quickly found something else to occupy them when their leaders angry eyes swept over them.

"The chance to eat a decent meal while I'm stuck here," the bard told him lightly with a teasing smile on her face.

He fixed her with an infuriated stare, "You're offering to cook for us?" he questioned uncertainly.

"That's what I said," agreed the blonde seriously.

"You're willing to cook for the men that are holding you captive?" he persisted.

"Yup. You got it Socrates," she affirmed.

"You want to cook and clean ..."

"Hey! I never said anything about doing the dishes," she broke in firmly.

He ignored her continuing, "... for the men who are taking you to Caesar?"

"Let's just get the terms right here, buddy! I'll cook, but I won't wash! Got it?" she insisted, but Mavrikios was still trying to get his brain around the weird phenomenon of a captive doing the cooking chores willingly.

"You're gonna do the cooking ..."

"Cooking only bub!" she reminded him.

"Okay, okay," he growled, "but you'd do the cooking even though we're going to catch Xena and take her and you to Caesar?"

"That's about the long and short of it," agreed Gabrielle. "Call it self preservation, because as sure as Xena's gonna whip your sorry butt, none of us will survive that long if we keep eating the slops being served up to us right now ... so what bit are you unclear on? Sheesh, doesn't anyone learn good Greek nowadays?"

"Fine," snarled the warlord, ready to take a chance on the bard's cookery, knowing he couldn't stomach much more of the muck they were currently forced to digest.

"One more thing, though," ventured Gabrielle as Mavrikios turned to leave.

"What!" he almost shouted in exasperation.

"It's only fair," began the bard, "that if I'm doing the cooking, I should get to ride in the cook wagon. If I spend a day thrown over a horse's back, I'm not going to be in any condition to cook a meal for your army, now am I?" she told him reasonably.

Mavrikios stood stock still, a look of doubt creeping across his face. He liked the idea of his valuable prisoner being very firmly under the eye of a guard at all times. However, he was a practical man and he knew that something had to be done about the food situation ... and soon. He looked at Gabrielle dubiously. He had the definite feeling of being manipulated into something and he was sure he was not going to like the end results of it. Yet he could see no way that the girl would be able to escape from the cook wagon, especially if he set guards around it and used the leg iron to anchor her firmly in place.

"C'mon, Mavrikios," encouraged the bard, "You know it's a good deal."

He had a really uneasy feeling about all of this, but he just couldn't put his finger on why. Maybe it was just nerves about Xena; where she was and what she was up to. The Warrior Princess was enough to rattle anyone's nerves and, although he didn't show it, Mavrikios was more than a little intimidated by his ex-commander. He'd been a lowly, junior, lieutenant before striking off on his own, and he really doubted that the ruthless, vicious, warlord he had known could be so easily buried and reincarnated as the Warrior Princess of the current stories. Too much prodding, and he was certain that the dark, driven Xena of old would re-emerge. He prayed to the gods that he wasn't going to be the one on the receiving end of that. It was a prospect that did not fill him with joy. But, money was money, and if he could just manage to keep things together, the rewards would be well worth a few sleepless nights.

"Fine," he agreed at last, "Tomorrow you travel in the wagon, and get to cook the evening meal. You better make sure it's a good one after your boasting, because the men won't be too happy if it's not." he warned her.

"Great," enthused Gabrielle before a sour look crossed her face, "No washing dishes though," she insisted.

"Yeah, yeah!" agreed the warlord.

"Oh, I'll make sure it's the most memorable meal they've eaten," she grinned at the suspicious look he gave her. "At least since your regular cook got taken ill," she clarified with a twinkle glittering in her eyes.

Mavrikios stamped off to his tent, waving frustrated hands in the air, even more uneasy about this deal and unable to put his finger on just exactly why. As the warlord disappeared into his tent, Gabrielle pumped her fist in the air, gave a little jig and hissed, "YES!", before realising that it wasn't probably a good idea to advertise her joy in such a public manner. She smirked to herself before stretching out by the fire for the night.