He held his palms up to inspect the blisters that were raw on his hands and shook his head in rueful disbelief. It had been so long since he'd done honest chores that he'd become soft. He scooped up the waterskin that lay beside him and took a deep swallow, then poured some of the cool liquid on his throbbing hands before allowing the water to gush over his head. Shaking his long black hair from his eyes, he reached for his shirt.

He'd cut quite a stack of firewood to replace the depleted pile in the inn's woodshed. That he'd had to cut so much in one go, was testimony to the fact that he disliked the job and had put it off as long as possible. However, when his mother had started to threaten to do the job herself, he had reluctantly undertaken the arduous chore. - Well it's done now - he thought gratefully. - Maybe I can get Tomas to go hunting with me tomorrow. Mother could use some fresh game to flesh out the stores. - He glanced up at the sky and realized that the sun was lowering, - Thinking of food, - he grinned to himself, - time to get something to eat. - he thought as his stomach rumbled its agreement.

Pulling his shirt over his head he hurriedly tucked the tail into his trousers, leaving a substantial amount sticking out in a lopsided hang. He gathered the waterskin and the small pannier that he'd carried some lunch in, so that he wouldn't have to make himself halfway presentable to go back into the inn at midday, and headed for the kitchen door.

His mother met him with a towel and a bar of soap, "Wash up before eating," she told him lightly.

With a look of feigned patience upon his face, he swapped the things he carried for the wash gear, and headed for the well. There he drew himself a bucket of fresh water and proceeded to clean the sweat and grime, which had accumulated, from his well-muscled torso.

Reluctant to put the sweaty shirt back on, he threw it over his shoulder and, whistling cheerfully, he made his way back to the kitchen where his mother waited ready to take the soap, towel and shirt and hand him a fresh one. "You know," she told him patiently, "You'd find it a much easier if you tackled the chores in small amounts, rather than waiting for things to build up into mammoth tasks."

He smiled at his mother patting her cheek fondly, bringing an echo of the impatient child he had been with it when he said, "I guess I'm too old to change my ways now, Mother," he told her. "What's to eat? I could demolish a whole roast ox."

"Nothing so grand," she told him with a smile. "There's some cold mutton and fresh vegetables."

"Ah!" he sighed irrepressibly, "A banquet fit for a king."

"Get on with you!" she scolded as he gave her a hug. Since he'd been home, he'd done that a lot ... once they got over the strangeness of being around each other after such a long parting. She only wished her other children were home ... but, while she was at it, she might as well have wished for the moon!

She watched contentedly as he sat at the kitchen table and proceeded to demolish the large helping of food that she had prepared for him. - It was good to cook for family rather than just the customers, - she decided, and smiled as he helped himself to more. A sudden thought crossed her mind. - The letter! - She moved with her light easy step to the mantle shelf, where she had put it when it had arrived in the morning. The inn had been busy, and he had been working so well with the woodpile, that she had decided to wait to give it to him until he stopped to eat.

She smiled quietly to herself as she remembered the courier who had delivered it. The girl hadn't been more than seventeen summers, but she moved with an arrogant assurance that would have drawn attention even if she hadn't been wearing such exotic clothing. - Amazon, - had been her guess then, and remained so now. What they could want with her son, she wasn't about to guess, but she hoped that it wouldn't be something to take him away.

As he pushed his plate away with a sigh of contentment, she said, "A letter came for you today. An Amazon delivered it."

"An Amazon?" he questioned in amazement, "Do we know any Amazons?"

She shrugged, she had her private thoughts about who had sent the letter, but she didn't want to speculate when the answer was to hand, "Open it and see what it says," she suggested.

He looked at the red wax that had closed the document and guessed that it was a Royal crest imprinted into it. Carefully breaking the seal, he scanned the contents and a worried frown descended upon his features, "It's from Gabrielle," he told his mother who was showing signs of becoming impatient. "She says that Xena's in trouble and needs my help. Here," he said handing her the letter as he stood and made for the stairs to his room, "I've got to get my things."

She read the bard's message and she felt the blood draining from her face. For Gabrielle to write asking for help, things had to be pretty bad. She sank into the chair her son had vacated and fought back the tears that threatened to come. He must go to her aid, but it would be so hard to lose him again, and yet if Xena was in danger .... "Be strong, my little one," she whispered to herself. "Be safe."

Pain! Raw blinding agony screamed through her entire tormented being. Throbbing aches crescendoed in waves of rippling red heat that burned her whole body in unrelenting fire. She was alone in a prison of tortured flesh. Caught in a blackened pit that she struggled to rise from without success. Darkness enveloped her and she fought a silent battle to regain the light.

Sitting under the cool of the shady tree, he leaned back in happy relaxation. He watched the play of the line in the water and waited, with perfectly cultivated patience, for the graceful bow of the pole that would tell him lunch was ready to be landed and cooked. He sighed in total contentment. - This is the life! A hot day, a shady tree and a river well stocked with fish! - just the thing to give him something to occupy the long candlemarks of peaceful outdoor pursuits he anticipated over the next half moon or so. It was all very well leading the hectic life of an heroic adventurer, but there were times when a man just needed a chance to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

As he listened to the birds trilling their songs, and the gentle lapping of the water as the river ran lazily on its way, his eyes were beginning to close in response to a hard morning's, serious fishing. That was when the clatter of metal brought him awake instantly. Springing to his feet, the small, muscularly built, blonde haired man, leapt up and grabbed the branch that grew about two feet above him. With practised ease, he pulled himself into the cover of the foliage and swung his legs up to screen himself until he could see what was coming.

The noise grew more pronounced as whatever it was drew closer to the blonde's refuge. He could see little through the thick growth of leaves, so he used his ears to judge the appropriate moment when the moving noise stopped beneath him. He then showed his acrobatic ability as he swung down, legs hooked over the branch like a trapeze, to grab the figure in front of him. He was just about to plant a right fist in the intruder's face, when he realized who he had hold of and exclaimed, "You! What are you doing here?"

"Hey!" came the reply, the voice akin to that of a startled puppy, "Watch the suit." He said wriggling out of the blonde man's grip, tripping on a tree root and landing heavily on his backside in a clatter of loose metal attachments, "What did ya do that for?" he demanded in a hurt tone.

The smaller man swung easily out of the tree, brushed the odd leaf from his shoulders and replied, "You know you shouldn't come creeping up on someone uninvited like that."

"Creeping," the voice sounded incredulous. "Me? No, no, ya got that all wrong. I was just walking along minding my own business when this madman appears hanging upside down in a tree and threatens to hit me!" he complained as he scrambled to his feet in the accompanying cacophony of sound that marked his every movement. He glanced at the fishing pole, "Think you've got a bite," he said helpfully as the pole began to bend alarmingly, "Do you want me to get it?"

"No!" snapped the blonde as he grabbed the pole and started to work the fish. It seemed like he had a big one and soon became absorbed in the task.

"You're gonna lose it," the second man warned him pleasantly.

"Shut up!" responded the smaller man, "I know what I'm doing." The pole bent dramatically and the line snapped just as he said the fateful words.

"Told ya," pointed out his uninvited visitor unhelpfully.

Throwing the pole to the ground, the blonde turned on the other and shouted, "All a man wants is a nice peaceful day's fishing and what does he get?" he threw his hands into the air, "Uninvited know it alls who ruin the whole day!"

The collection of metal pieces seemed to shrug, "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just do better," he was told and then the blonde added, "Go and find someone else to bug."

"Can't," he began, but was cut off by female voice.

"Is this a private fight or is anyone allowed to play?" it asked.

"Hey! How'd you do that?" asked the tin can, as his reluctant companion whirled round looking for the source of the voice.

"That wasn't me ...." he began, but was cut off by the voice.

"No it was me," announced an Amazon as she stepped out from behind the tree where she had been concealed.

"What is this!?" demanded the smaller man, "Is someone out there selling tickets to this place? Is there a sign out there pointing 'this way to the fisherman's retreat?"

"Calm down," the woman said, "I'm not stopping. I just need to deliver this to you," she said handing over a sealed letter.

"What's this?" he asked as he took it from the Amazon.

"It's a letter, dummy," said the second man, "She just told you that."

"I know what it is!" he snapped at him, "it was just a manner of speech."

"Oh sorry," sniggered the walking rust bucket.

"Hey where you going," smiled the blonde as the Amazon started to run off.

"Home!" she called back over her shoulder. "I told you, I was just here to deliver a letter."

"Great!" grumbled the blonde as he opened the seal, "A good-looking woman comes and goes, and I get left with you." He scanned the neat hand before him and swore, "Zeus in Tartarus!"

"What's wrong?" asked his companion.

"Xena's in trouble and Gabrielle wants my help," the small blonde replied, gathering his gear together quickly. The walking scrap iron merchant, looked back toward where he could see the Amazon disappearing into the distance, "Hey don't you have a letter for me!?" he yelled after her. He shrugged in placid acceptance, thinking to himself - Must have got lost in the post! - He turned back to see the blonde heading in the other direction and ran noisily to catch him up, "Hey wait for me, I'm coming too."

Light stabbed into her brain as she tried, only partially successfully, to open her eyes. The right was swollen tightly shut, and the left one wouldn't open fully .. just enough to let in the excruciating glare from the torches that blazed brightly in the cell. She concentrated on trying to focus her sight, which insisted on slipping between a blurred obscurity and numbing reality.

Finally she succeeded in controlling her vision, limited as it was, enough to take stock of her surroundings. She was in a stone walled room, bare of all furnishings other than the four torches set high in the corners of the cell. In front of her was a door, heavily studded with iron and supporting a barred grill through which came the sound of many overlapping and confusing voices that seemed to roar and fade with no consistency. An effect that made her heave the contents of her stomach up before darkness reached for her once more. She fought, but her foe was too strong and expertly pulled her into its velvety, vicelike, grip. Imprisoning her in oblivion until she could once more break free of its clutches and reach for the light.

- Patience! - he warned himself, carefully allowing the rope to pay out an inch at a time as he lowered himself, head down, toward the glass cabinet beneath him. When he reached the height he wanted, he deftly snagged the free end of the rope in a metal tie on his belt, leaving him suspended, via a pulley, attached to a beam high above the vault.

With his hands free, he pulled a lockpick from about his person, and searched out the four delicately intricate locks securing the glass panelled, ironwork case to the stand, "C'mon," he encouraged as he probed the first with his sensitive touch, "C'mon, talk to me." With a soft click the first mechanism sprang open, and he moved his attention to the next in line, "Tell me what I wanna hear," he encouraged, as his fingers worked the pick with expert assurance. He smiled a moment later as he murmured, "Halfway there." The third lock proved to have no resistance to his skilful fingers and opened quite easily, "Now," he murmured seductively, "Come to Papa," as he coaxed the fourth lock into abandoning its duty. "That was the easy bit," he told himself dismissively, "Now comes the hard work."

He reached out his hand for one end of the rope that hung beside him attached to a second pulley. Carefully he secured the rope to the decorative ironwork surmounting the glass. With that done, he began to, very slowly, inch the casing into the air, away from it's base, to give himself access to the prize beneath. The work was long and tiring, for although the casing was not inordinately large, the thick panes and the heavy ironwork made it a cumbersome and time-consuming task. He also had to make sure that he carefully curled the trailing end of the rope, as he was well aware that the floor was weight sensitive, and he preferred not to be disturbed by unhelpful guards as he laboured.

After long and careful effort, he had managed to move the casing high enough to be able to reach the jewelled dagger that lay on a bed of purple velvet beneath it. The thief, carefully took the strain of the glass and iron on one arm, and inched the fingers of his left hand down to claim the dagger. His grasp closed around his reward and he retrieved it swiftly, thrusting it through his belt for safe keeping as he returned the dome to it's base, beads of perspiration appearing on his brow as the strain began to increase with the time it took.

Finally, having returned the case to its original place, he was ready to remove himself from the scene of the crime. That was when the vault door opened and admitted the King of Tressia's High Chamberlain, "Now what did he want to do that for?" muttered the thief as the Chamberlain spotted him and yelled.

"GUARDS!"

Releasing himself from his gear, the tall dark thief dropped lightly to the ground, ignored the cacophony of bells that erupted when the alarm was triggered. Showing a nimbleness on his feet, he dodged around the Chamberlain as well as the two guards who had rushed immediately to his summons, "You'll have to do better than that," he taunted them as he ducked out of the doorway, "if you want to catch the Ki.... Ullpp!" and straight into the path of half a dozen guards rushing toward the vault.

Thinking quickly, the thief dived forward toward their feet, bringing the whole lot of armour plated soldiers down into a tangled heap around him. He easily escaped the mess, springing to his feet and sprinting up the passageway as fast as his legs would carry him.

"After him!" roared the Chamberlain.

The guards scrambled up and pounded down the corridor after their quarry. The thief took a quick left turn and heard one of the chasing men shout, "Now we've got him!"

At the end of the corridor stood a window, that opened high above the market square outside the palace walls, "Whoever heard of a vault being built in a tower, anyway?" muttered the thief as he leapt onto the windowsill.

"There he is!" came a roar from close behind.

Further along the wall, a flagpole stood out. It was too far away for him to leap to, but .... He pointed his arm, flexed his wrist and a small metal object shot out, trailing a thin, very strong cord behind it. As the first guard pounded up to the window and aimed a wild slash at the thief, the dark haired criminal sang out, "Yodalayheehoo!" and launched himself off of the cill to swing, via the cord, down to the ground. He turned back to the window and gave the seething guardsmen a mocking salute, before he turned to disappear into the crowds of the city.

The thief took several twists and turns to make sure that no one would easily be able to track him, before he stopped to regain his breath. Ever the vain egotist, he paused to stare at his reflection in a water trough, smoothed his dark hair and stroked a satisfied finger over his moustache. Then a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

He considered his options, and decided to try to bluff and then run as hard as he could, "Hey," he began, "I don't know what you want me for," he said turning to face whoever was behind him, "but I have nothing to ...."

"Relax," a woman's voice interrupted him.

"You're an Amazon!" he exclaimed.

"They told me you were bright," she said sarcastically.

"Look, I haven't done anything to, or stolen anything from the Amaz ..." he began.

"I said relax," the woman told him again, "I'm just here to deliver a letter," she said pressing a piece of sealed parchment into his hands, then abruptly turned to leave.

He watched her go, before breaking the seal and reading the contents, "Whew!" he whistled, as he read through the letter for the second time, "Well, I'm sure they'll be able to sort things out themselves."

"There he is!" yelled an unfriendly voice. "The King wants him caught so he can be publicly disembowelled for his effrontery in stealing from the Royal vault!"

- On the other hand - he decided, - a change of scenery might just be what's needed right now! -

Light swam in and out of focus as Xena struggled from the deep pits of unconsciousness. Her foggy brain, took some time to clear itself, and she wasn't sure if that was a curse or a blessing, as all the intensity of the agonizing pain that gripped her flooded into her awareness.

- Pain means I'm alive! - she told herself firmly as she tried to establish herself in her current reality.

She was still in the little stone cell and she seemed to be hanging from her wrists. She moved her head to see what was above her and had to fight off another bout of nausea as her vision swam and hammers thundered out a chorus on her brain. - Slowly! - she reminded herself.

Resting her head against her raised arms, she waited until the world stopped spinning and she was sure that she would be able to resist the fingers of darkness that clawed the far reaches of her mind. She inched her throbbing head into a position where she could see that her manacles were chained to a ringbolt in the ceiling above her.

- Okay, - she breathed hard, - So, what's with my legs? -

Again, moving with ultimate slowness, she edged her head forward until she could see the ground below her. Her vision slammed in and out of focus with a violence that made her want to throw up again, but she forced herself to resist, knowing that the heaving wasn't any good for her injuries.

Closing her eye, until things had steadied once more, she slowly forced it back open to look at her legs which were buckled at the knees. - Well at least if I can stand on my feet, I'll be able to take some of the pressure off my wrists. - she decided.

Thinking of an action and performing it was, however, proving to be poles apart in terms of effort. It took Xena what seemed to be an age to get her feet flat on the ground beneath her. Then it took far more time to encourage her tortured, abused, muscles into action. Her legs quivered like a banner in a breeze as she tried to get them to support her weight. But however unsteady they were, it did help to relieve the torment she was suffering in her wrists, arms and shoulders.

The next task was to take stock of her injuries. If she was going to have any idea of what she was capable of doing, she needed to assess the damage that Caesar's goons had inflicted. She took a deep breath and winced sharply. - Bruised, probably cracked, ribs! - she decided - and at least one is broken and pressing on the lung. No puncture though, or I'd be coughing blood. - She thought about that for a moment. She didn't remember coughing, blood or anything else, but then again she wasn't really sure of anything at the moment.

- So, damaged ribs, - she catalogued and allowed a gasp to escape her lips as her head swam violently again. When everything had stopped spinning, she added to her list, - Heavy concussion. - Her legs seemed fine, other than being battered and bruised. She couldn't recognize the pain of a broken bone there, so at least that was something. Her arms seemed to be more or less functional, although she was certain that her left shoulder was dislocated. Everything else amounted to scrapes, bruises and fatigue.

- Could be worse, - she told herself, trying to buoy up her courage. - I'm not dead and I don't think I've got anything a little rest won't fix ... If he gives me a little rest. - She resisted the impulse to dwell on what Caesar had in mind for her fate. He obviously didn't want her dead, at least not immediately, or she'd be taking a cruise on Charon's boat by now. Ergo, he had something else in mind for her.

She gently rubbed her throbbing head against her arm. Sluggishly her brain registered the feel of metal around her neck. A cold ring of metal that could only have one meaning, - A slave collar? - she thought incredulously. - He wants to keep me as a slave? - A humourless bubble of sound, that should have been a chuckle, escaped from her battered lips as she thought, - Gods, but the man's arrogant! -

She had no idea of how long she'd been in the cell, or how long they intended to keep her there. She knew that her only chance to escape, was to recover from her injuries faster than they believed she'd be able to. Towards that end, she slowly began to work on regaining control of her muscles: tensing and relaxing different areas of her body to get the blood flowing smoothly and force strength back into the weakened limbs.

- Caesar won't hold me for long! - she swore to herself. She'd never be anyone's slave, let alone a man she hated with a passion so rare in its strength and intensity. - One way or another, - she promised herself, - I'll escape him! -