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.

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.

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.

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.