By the third night, in the small camp that the guard maniple had erected for their nightly stop, even Brutus was becoming disturbed about his charge's health and mental well being. He had been informed that the bard was struggling to keep up on the march, when he knew, full well, that the girl was more than able to keep to a hard pace. She had proven it in her travels with the Warrior Princess.

"What's amiss with her?" he asked the Senior Centurion, Paullus.

"The men have been reporting that she doesn't sleep, sir," answered Paullus, a man who looked younger than his almost forty summers, "And that when she does, she wakes up screaming. It's obvious that she's having nightmares and none of the men know what to do for her. She's stopped eating now and she seems to be shaking all the time."

"Juno good and great," swore his commander, "If we lose her, Caesar will have us all crucified, starting with me and ending up with the lowliest legionary. It's a damn pity that we haven't got Caesar's healer, Patroclese, with us. He'd be able to mix something up to make the girl sleep."

Paullus looked thoughtful, "Perhaps one of the medical orderlies has something, sir. It might be worthwhile asking. Meronius has a way with herbs, he might be able to suggest a remedy," he said after a moment's thought.

Brutus nodded his head. "Get your Meronius to take a look at her. We have to do something before she becomes really ill."

Gabrielle sat listlessly in her tent, eyes darkly shadowed, muscles shaking from fatigue and the knowledge that if she should sleep the shades from her past experiences would be there to torment her. Her bowl of stew sat untouched by her side, ignored as she retreated into the grey misery that her life had become.

Meronius was a big man. He stood over six feet in height and had a muscular build that totally belied his gentleness as he examined the bard. She sat unresisting in a foggy daze as he checked her over. He noted that her eyes had lost whatever keenness they had possessed, her gaze was distant and withdrawn. Her hair had lost it's luster and spasms shook her body. The medic looked up as the senior Centurion entered through the canvas doorway, followed by the Tribune, Brutus. Meronius stood and moved to where the two men waited. and answered the unspoken question, "Sir, she's suffering from fatigue and a morbid depression."

"We'd worked that out for ourselves," snapped Brutus in annoyance, "Have you a remedy, man?"

"There is a sleep potion that may work. We use it on seriously injured men, who are going to die, just to ease their last few candlemarks. It should put her into a deep dreamless sleep and help her to recover," informed the medic.

"Why do I know that there's going to be a problem with this," muttered Brutus in frustration as he noted the man's edginess.

Meronius shuffled his feet and said, "Sir I have no idea how long the patient will be unconscious with this drug. As I said it is normally only used on the dying men. Whatever I give her could knock her unconscious for a few candlemarks, or even a few days."

Brutus looked at the bard. She sat on a blanket, close to the stake that held her chained by a leg iron. The woman was important to Caesar, and in honesty, he'd hate to try and control that hellcat, Xena, without the girl to use as a threat against her behaviour. With that in mind, there was no way that he could allow this 'illness' to develop, "Make sure she takes some of your draft. If it keeps her unconscious for a time, that's no real problem. At least we'll know that she won't be able to slip through our fingers."

"As you say sir," agreed the medic.

"Oh, Meronius," Brutus suddenly had a thought as he moved towards the tent's flap, "I want you to stay with her from now on. She's your concern. I want you to make certain that she eats and sleeps and regains her fitness."

Meronius snapped into rigid attention executed a perfect salute and replied, "Sir!" in proper military fashion.

As his superiors left, he turned back to his charge and deftly mixed up a sleeping draft in a cup of water. He held the cup to Gabrielle's lips and encouraged her to swallow the liquid. The bard complied with a lack of interest that brought a sympathetic quirk to the medics lips. He wondered just what made this one young slave so important that it had the Tribune worrying after her health.

He fingered the collar and read the inscription, "So you belong to Caesar, child." he mused as he picked up the bowl of stew and encouraged the apathetic girl to eat, "I thought he liked his women close to his hand ... and more experienced," continued Meronius softly, as he remembered the stories told of Caesar's prowess with the women. It was a source of ribald pride amongst his men.

When Gabrielle had finished eating, her eyes began to drift shut. The big medic helped her to lay down, and gently tucked a blanket around her, pleased to see the look of peace on her face and the relaxation of her tightly strung, muscular body, "Sleep child," he said, seeing an image of his own daughter laid over the girls features. He hadn't seen Damita for five long years, but she'd had the golden, red, blonde tresses that this girl wore, although her eyes were brown and not the blue green of the bard's.

He felt an obscure and totally unreasoned desire to protect this girl, and he would do his best to make sure she came through whatever was bothering her. It was part of what made Gabrielle so special. Her natural goodness shone through and made those around her protective of her well being ... except, of course, for those deadly enemies of hers, such as Callisto, Valesca, Caesar, Ares and several other warlords and bad men of lesser note.

Autolycus shifted uncomfortably and wished, yet again, that Joxer had found a more painless spot from which to observe the legionaries camp. He stifled an exclamation as a particularly vicious bramble clung tenaciously to his leg. He threw a mortified look at his companion, "You chose this place particularly to get me back for the dress, didn't you?"

Joxer, who was now attired in the black leather trousers and tunic that he'd purchased just before his reunion with his brother Jet, looked at the thief with blank incomprehension and said, "Of course not." He plucked a blackberry from the brier and offered it to Autolycus, smiling hugely and saying, "Want some. They make a good breakfast. And it's not my fault that your cloths are cloth and mine are leather, now is it?"

Autolycus took the fruit and glared at his 'warrior' companion, "You sneaky little Cretin of Chaos, you. You did chose this on purpose."

Joxer's grin widened as he popped another berry into his own mouth, "Paybacks are a bitch," he exulted, rolling away when the thief looked like he was going to settle a score of his own. "Hey! C'mon. Ya gotta admit that this is the best spot to watch those Roman goons from."

Autolycus settled down muttering dire imprecations that Joxer failed to catch the meaning of. But he did hear the thief grumble, "I bet Iolaus hasn't got this problem with Toris."

Turning his attention down the sharp hill, the King of Thieves watched as the Roman maniple began to strike camp. His eyes narrowed as he saw a litter being taken towards the only tent still standing and he began to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hoped that it was the blackberries, but he had an idea that it was being caused by something far worse. A sudden spasm of fear.

"Perhaps someone's ill?" suggested Joxer naively.

Autolycus looked at him as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, "Do you know where Gabrielle is?" he asked pointedly.

"No, where?" asked his companion in return scanning the area looking for the familiar red blonde hair that would pin point her location.

Autolycus grabbed him by the nose and twisted hard to vent his frustration and anxiety, "She's in that tent. The tent where they just took that litter. Do I need to draw you a picture or do you understand what that means?" he demanded, yanking the nose hard as he let go.

"Owww!" moaned Joxer clutching at his tormented snout, "That hurt," he whined, before suddenly realizing what Autolycus had been trying to explain to him. "Hey!" he almost shouted, trying to scramble to his knees.

"Cut that out," hissed the thief, as he pulled his companion down next to him. Do you want to tell them where we are?" A spear sliced through the bramble cover and pierced the ground between them. Autolycus swallowed, his eyes rivetted to the spear head as he said, "This is not good."

A rough voice ordered, "Come out of there ... slowly. You make any funny moves and we'll turn that bush into a pin cushion."

The thief scowled at Joxer, "Hey Autolycus," he grumbled as he edged out of the bush, carefully, "I've found a great place to keep watch ... amateurs! Ha!"

"Hmmmm!" grinned Joxer apologetically embarrassed, "Sorry."

When both men had extricated themselves from the brier, they found themselves surrounded by a decurion and a ten man patrol unit .. all with weapons drawn, four of them holding bows. "Put your hands on top of your heads," the officer instructed.

"Would you believe it if I told you we were just hunting up breakfast?" asked the thief hopefully.

"Not a chance," the decurion confirmed cheerfully.

"Thought not," groused the King of Thieves unhappily.

"Search them," ordered the officer.

With Autolycus shooting black glares at his companion, the pair complied, while they were roughly searched for weapons and anything else that might be considered contraband in these particular circumstances. The soldier searching Joxer finished quite quickly, but the man assigned to search Autolycus kept finding a variety of odd looking metallic instruments, lock picks, grappling hooks, pistol crossbows and any other number of things that would be impossible to put a name too.

When the decurion looked a question at him, the thief shrugged and answered, "Just the tools of my trade, I'm a scrap merchant."

A grin split the grizzled Roman's face, "Don't bother son," he told Autolycus. "We know who you are, now tell us where your other two mates have got to."

Autolycus looked at him with incomprehension, "Sorry, don't know who you mean."

"He means Iolaus and Tor ... Owwwww!" yelled Joxer hopping up and down on one foot, from the pain of Autolycus's boot coming down heavily on his toes, "Whatdidyadothatfor," he demanded in a garbled rush.

Autolycus shook his head ruefully, "You'll have to make allowances for my ... friend," he said with heavy sarcasm, "He tends to open his mouth at the most inappropriate times." He shot another glare at Joxer who got the message.

The decurion shook his head at them. "Never mind. We'll see what the tribune has to say about you both." He signalled his men, who formed up around the two captives, "Move out," he ordered, leading the way back down the hill to the camp.

Joxer and Autolycus, both still with their hands on their heads, followed along, shoved every now and then by the legionaries around them, to make sure that they kept up with the pace. Autolycus muttered imprecations under his breath, while Joxer did his best to avoid his companion's glare.

The decurion reported to his optio, who reported to Paullus, the senior Centurion, who reported to Brutus ... who smiled, "You've got two of them. Which two? Bring them over so I can have a look at them."

Paullus waved at the decurion who escorted his find to the Tribune and gave his commander a precise military salute, "Sir," he announced, "we found these two skulking on the hill, up there," he pointed to the relevant place.

"I do not skulk," muttered Autolycus insulted, "I spy out the lay of the land."

"I don't think 'spy' is such a good word to use either," whispered back Joxer through the side of his mouth.

Autolycus, smiled at Brutus and lowered his hands, "Ah, there seems to be a misunderstanding here," he explained, "All my ... friend and I were doing was getting some breakfast. That blackberry bush up there has quite delicious fruits, you know." He smiled ingratiatingly.

"This would be the thief, then," said Brutus, looking Autolycus over with consideration tinged with respect. His glance flicked to Joxer who stood straight trying to look nonchalant, "and this would be the fool."

"Hey!" he protested but was abruptly silent when the but end of a pila whacked him across his thigh, "Fool's good," he agreed.

Brutus turned his eyes on Autolycus, "Where are the others?" he asked placidly. The thief gave him a look of contempt and turned to give Joxer a warning stare, so he didn't see the Tribune's fist coming.

Seeing stars rotate slowly around his head wasn't a new experience for Autolycus. Associating with Xena and Hercules had introduced him to the vision some time ago. Seeing men tower above him as he sat prone on his fundament was also nothing new. He felt his tender jaw and moved it experimentally, before looking up at Brutus and saying, "That was uncalled for, " and couldn't resist adding, "I bet not many of your friends turn their back on you." A spear shaft "Thwacked" solidly across his back.

"What do you want done with them, Tribune?" asked Paullus.

"Shackle them," Brutus answered. "Keep a close watch on them. Especially the mouthy one. Oh, and Paullus, tell off a pair of runners to get to the closest garrison with horsemen and have them inform Lord Caesar that two of his birds are in the hand. Tell him it's the thief and the fool. He'll understand."

As the manacles and leg irons were brought out, Autolycus got to his feet and nudged Joxer, pointing with his chin as the litter was brought out of the last standing tent and they could see Gabrielle's motionless form laying on it. Without thinking, Joxer tried to rush to the bard's side, only to be dropped like a poleaxed steer as the heavy shaft of a Roman pila clipped him neatly behind the ear.

"Damn it Joxer!" swore the King of Thieves as he felt an urge to defend his companion, - This doing good stuff must be rubbing off from Xena and Gabrielle, - he thought to himself, - "Sheesh!" he hissed as he was neatly clubbed down too. - Guys, you're gonna owe me big time for this! - was his last conscious thought for some while.

He wasn't sure how he'd got where he was. The cell looked vaguely familiar, but then he'd seen so many of them in so many different places. He rolled over and groaned feeling for the lump on his head, and recognising the clank of chains as he moved. He sat up carefully and looked around recognising the unstirring lump in the opposite corner to him as being Joxer, then noticed that their accommodation was shared by the bard that they'd been trailing as they tried to work out a way to rescue her.

- My luck can't be this good! - he thought as he scrambled on his knees to her side and looked down into her sleeping face. "Gabrielle," he whispered, shaking her shoulder, "Hey, c'mon Gabrielle, wake up. It's me, Autolycus." - Full marks for an original line, - his brain sneered at him.

"She's got a strong sleeping drug inside her," came a voice from the door. Autolycus swivelled to face the owner as it was opened to admit Meronius.

"What's the matter?" he asked sarcastically, "Aren't a hundred men enough to keep one small girl from escaping, so that you've got to drug her?"

Meronius walked to his side and checked on his patient's pulse, lifting an eyelid to see if she was any closer to regaining consciousness, "Actually," he explained, "she was given it because she had barely slept for three nights. She was having these nightmares ... and we were getting worried about her."

"So you doped her up to the eyeballs, right?" sneered the thief. "Well don't you think it's about time she woke up."

"I do, but I have no idea how much longer she'll be out. I had hoped that hearing you and your friend talk to her, might do the trick." said the medic calmly.

"Is Joxer okay," asked Autolycus, sparing a glance for his warrior wannabe companion.

"He has a thick head ..." answered Meronius.

"Never a truer word ..." muttered the King of Thieves.

"... he'll be fine." finished the medic.

A groan from Joxer bore out that comment and they heard him say, "Owww! My head feels like it's been run over by a herd of centaurs."

"You okay?" questioned Autolycus.

"I think so," admitted his friend.

"Then get over here and talk to Gabrielle. We need to try and wake her up, and I can't think of anyone more likely to succeed at doing that than you ... other than Xena of course."

"Ya think so?" asked Joxer scrambling over to their sides, a proud grin on his face.

"Oh yeah," assured the thief fervently, "your voice is enough to force the dead from their graves."

Joxer's jaw set ready for a retort, but before he could speak, a hand shot up from the pallet and grabbed his ear, "Joxer!" said a rasping, but very recognisable voice, "What in the name of Hera are you doing here?" she demanded, forcing her eyes to open, and seeing Autolycus as well. "Great guys, just great."

"We're here to rescue you Gabby," grinned Joxer as she released him. She looked pointedly at the shackles that graced both his and the thief's wrists. "Ummm, we've got a few details to work out," he admitted.

"Sheesh!" muttered Autolycus yet again. - How do I get myself into these things? -