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.

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.

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.

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 ...."