Thinking of Gabrielle caused the slight furrow of a frown to appear on her brow. She had been troubled by turbulent images in her sleep during the night. They had been disturbing, especially as the Warrior Princess rarely dreamed. She avoided allowing herself to fall into a deep enough sleep to have them, for her dreams were almost always nightmarish relivings of her past career. Last night had been different. It was almost as if she had been looking in on someone else's nightmares, and from the images she saw, those dreams could have belonged to only one person ... Gabrielle.
Xena knew that she and the bard had developed a strong link during their years together. Their dreams had overlapped in the past. It was possible that she had found a glimpse of Gabrielle's nightmares. But if they were strong enough to create a link to Xena's light sleep, then she knew that the bard would have awoken shaking and miserable.
On the few occasions that it had happened since the dreamscape passage, where the Warrior Princess had saved her friend from being sacrificed to Morpheus (one of the Dream God Brothers) the bard had needed the reassurance of a friend's closeness to recover from the fit of shaking that had assailed her. The last time it had happened, Xena had spent the residue of that night with a protective arm around the bard's shoulders, while Gabrielle had sobbed herself back to a more peaceful slumber. She half-smiled at the memory. She'd got no more rest that night and had suffered a crick in her neck that had made her grouchy for most of the day.
Her look turned bleak as her thoughts returned to last night. If her glimpse into Gabrielle's dream was accurate, then the bard would have been in sore need of comfort. She was well aware that her friend was a capable woman. She snorted to herself, - If I forget, Gabrielle is pretty quick to remind me, - she acknowledged. But the bard also had an innocent vulnerability, that stood at the core of who she was, which made Xena so protective of her. It was an essence that was worth protecting, - It's what makes her special, - the warrior recognised, - Warriors are a dinar a dozen, - she thought wryly, - but the world has too few Gabrielles! - She hoped that the bard had managed to overcome her terrors of the night, but fervently wished she had been there for her. For all that Gabrielle had given her .. companionship, trust, friendship and love .. it was the least she could do for her friend.
Blasius had drawn escort duty for the morning ... again! and Xena watched him through narrowed eyes as he and the six fresh watchdogs, moved through the guardroom and approached the cell. She glared at the man moodily. Of all the officers in the guard detail that watched over her, he was the only one that she had developed an active dislike for. He made the hairs on the nape of her neck bristle, and the stubborn streak, that ran in her blood, scrambled to the surface looking for a fight. She forced it down, with regret. She wouldn't be responsible for Gabrielle taking another beating ... if it was at all humanly possible to avoid it.
The door was unlocked and the optio entered with his men. He roughly, checked that each cuff of her fetters was still locked tight by giving the chains a hard yank, watching the Warrior Princess for any reaction, and getting none, other than the raised, mocking eyebrow. He then turned his attention to the belt around her waist, noticing that Flaccus had secured it less tightly than it had originally been.
With a malevolent look on his face, knowing that her body was bruised and sore from the previous evening's fight, he viciously pulled the fastening as tight as it would go and allowed a malicious smirk to appear as Xena was unable to stifle the slight wince that creased her features, "You'll do," he told her, giving her a shove towards the cell door.
The Warrior Princess was ready for the push and so had no trouble keeping her balance. She wished that she could see Gabrielle for a few moments before they took their separate paths, but knew that Caesar would have refused such a request even if she could have forced herself to ask it.
Her shuffling, chain restricted, footsteps managed to keep up with the pace set by Blasius, who marched behind her, ready to add impetus to her movement with a firm hand in the back. The rest of the guard formed up around them and they wound their way out to where the wagon and cage awaited her.
Once again, it was a long day's journey to Evignan, another extensive and prosperous city. The travelling had been monotonous, she'd had nothing to look at but her guards and the uninspiring canvass that covered the wagon. Her cramped muscles were soon aching, and this time she had no Gabrielle there to massage the pain out of them. Even the food was unimaginative and dull. She'd had the normal trail rations of flatbread, hard cheese, some nuts and raisons, washed down with some of the sour wine that the Roman army favoured.
Her close guard had been changed at three candlemark intervals to keep them fresh and alert, although they hadn't had a great deal to watch as Xena had resolutely kept her eyes closed and dozed through the day, shifting only when stiff muscles and sore bruises demanded a change of position to give them some ease.
It was edging into late evening and the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon. Once again, the VIIth Legion made camp outside the city, while the maniple, commanded by Flaccus, escorted Caesar, along with his personal guards and the wagon, into the city where they took up residence in the prefecture once more.
The cells available here, for once, gave Xena a modicum of privacy. She was lodged in a stone walled room, that had a heavy, iron bound door, with only a tiny grill in it. The floor was stone, and covered with reasonably fresh straw, but there was nothing else within the small room.
Reluctant to leave men within her reach, Flaccus opted to fix the collar with a chain and secure it to the wall opposite the door. She had enough slack to be able to lay down, but the chain ensured that she would be in sight of the peep hole at all times. One set of eyes remained on her, yet she hadn't realised how much of a strain it had been having six men observing her every move, until the intrusion had been lessened to just one. The subconscious relief was almost enough to make her feel good. The relative privacy also gave her the chance to try out the toothpick.
By laying down, and turning her back to the door, she carefully tugged at her shirt until she manoeuvred her collar to a position from which she was able to retrieve the metal pick. With her senses alert for any sounds that would warn her of someone seeking entry to the cell, she carefully manipulated the pick in the lock that secured her wrists to the belt around her waist.
It was a slow process. She was aware of the technique, for being within Autolycus's body (when she had sought a way back to her own after her death) had improved her own knowledge of how to open a lock, so she felt confident enough to tackle more than fairly simple ones. But she had never had occasion to practice and it was far from as easy as the thief's memories had made it appear. However, she persevered, learning that touch and feel were key to the operation along with patience.
- It is, - she decided, - like trying to do one of those metal puzzles that innkeepers keep for patron's entertainment. - The only problem being, she couldn't see the shape of the parts or how they fitted together.
Finally, she was rewarded with a soft click as she manipulated the mechanism into it's correct alignment. Allowing herself a pleased grin, she reversed the process, so that she put the padlock firmly back in place. Not wanting to push her luck, she slid the pick back into her collar, until she got another chance to practice. She was certain that the locks on the metal cuffs were going to be far more of a challenge to her basic skills.
Some time later, Patroclese showed up bringing his chess set with him, along with a bowl of stew and a loaf of fresh brown bread for her evening meal. He passed her the bread and stew, allowing her to eat while he set the pieces up on the board, "I saw Gabrielle before we left," he told her conversationally.
Xena, spoon halfway to her mouth, stopped and looked at him, "Was she ... alright?" she asked, a slight hesitation betraying her concern.
Patroclese continued laying out the pieces of the game, "She'd been crying," he told her quietly, "but she seemed okay."
The warrior began to slowly eat once more, concern evident in her eyes as her thoughts seemed to drift away. The bard had a tendency to have bad dreams. After Xena had 'died', Gabrielle had been assaulted by nightmares that drained her emotionly and physically. She hoped that this was not a reoccurrence of that problem, because this time she couldn't see how she was going to find her way back to her friend and cure them, "Sorry?" she said as she realised that the healer had been speaking to her.
Patroclese gave her a long look, wondering what had caused the woman's distraction and the definite flicker of worry that showed in her blue eyes, " I said," he repeated, "that Gabrielle wanted me to tell you to avoid taking chances, and to remind you that she wanted you to keep your promises."
Xena's lips twitched as she fought the urge to smile, "Trust Gabrielle to say that," she muttered.
She wiped out the bowl with the last of the bread and handed it back to the healer. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as he held his other hand out, waiting until she flipped the spoon to him. He shook his head in grudging respect for her persistence as he stood and took them to the door and handed them to the guard outside.
By the time he had come back, Xena had made her first move on the board. He sat back down in the straw and moved his response, "So, what happens tomorrow? Another march north?" she asked conversationally.
Patroclese watched as she swept her high priest across the board, before answering, "We rest here tomorrow. I think my Lord is arranging another contest for you before we move on," he told her, not meeting the blue eyes that he could feel boring into him.
She could feel the rage rising within her. It was now obvious that at least one of Caesar's plans for her was to turn her into a gladiator, of sorts. The thought of being used so made her blood boil with outrage, but deep within her, she was aware of the stirring of that dark core that relished the prospect of battle. Her fury at both Caesar for using her thus, and herself for her combative desire, roared through her body, leaving her shaking with wrath as she fought back the emotions that gripped her so violently.
By the time she had herself under control, Patroclese had backed away from her so that he was almost at the cell's door. What he had seen in her eyes had terrified him. Her muscles had been quivering as she had strained against her fetters, and the Xena he had come to know seemed to have vanished leaving behind the murderous slayer from the dark stories of her past.
He swallowed hard as he saw the woman slowly force the violent anger back into it's box. Whatever else she was, whatever she would become, the healer had just had a glimpse of the dark nature that lurked forever just below the surface, showing him that the deadly danger of Xena was far from a myth. His heart and his head hammered at each other once more, - Lord Caesar was right, the woman's an animal and she must be kept under restraint, - he told himself. While arguing, - How can I condemn her for her rage at being treated as she is? - They were arguments he had wrestled with for a long time now and still he could find no answer that would satisfy his conscience.
Xena looked at the obviously badly shaken healer. She shook her head ruefully, knowing that she could intimidate most people without really trying and, when she allowed her mask to slip, it could petrify even the most hardened warrior. She could understand that. It scared her. Losing control to her animal self, which had emerged after her first encounter with Caesar, was something she fought against every moment of her life. "It's okay, Patroclese," she told him softly, "I won't hurt you." She watched as he edged back to where he had been sitting, flinching at her slightest movement. - Whatever progress I may have been making with the healer has probably been shattered, - she thought disconsolately. "It's your move ... I think," she said, trying to break the tension.
When they had finished the game, Patroclese packed up the set and returned to his own quarters. He seemed to have regained some of his ease with her, but he left the Warrior Princess in a darkly brooding mood, as she contemplated the monster within herself. It was at times like these that she believed she had earned whatever Caesar threw at her. For all of the death, destruction and horror she had caused in her life, surely she deserved punishment? And what could be more fitting than her current torment at the hands of her hated enemy. She spent a long miserable night wishing for the presence of Gabrielle. The bard would have soothed her fears and the loathing she felt for herself.
