Xena was dumped down by one of the posts that had been used the evening before and her leash secured around it. Her mind was still hazy and her muscles felt heavy and unco-operative. She leaned back against the wood and rested, allowing herself to drift along with the drug induced relaxation she felt.

Patroclese soon appeared at her side. He checked her pulse, got her to open her eyes so he could check the progress of the Curamin and then encouraged her to drink from the waterskin he had brought with him. He guessed that she was probably hungry, but she wasn't really in any state to eat at that time, and he doubted there'd be any breakfast for anyone that morning as Caesar was impatient to be on his way. Having done what he could, the healer scurried off to inform his lord of his observations.

"So she's still under the effects of the drug, but she's struggling to fight it off," the Roman noble considered the information. "Is she able to walk?"

"If she gets some support from the guards for the next couple of candlemarks, it will probably help to disperse the effects of the Curamin anyway." answered Patroclese carefully.

"Very well. As soon as the last of the search parties return, we'll move out. I want to get back to the VIIth and on our way to Lugdunum as soon as possible." Caesar instructed.

"My Lord," began the healer carefully, "What punishment do you intend to impose upon the Warrior Princess?"

"Slave," corrected Caesar.

"My Lord?" questioned Patroclese, confused.

"Not Warrior Princess, nor Xena of Amphipolis, she is just the slave, Xena, property of Caesar." His eyes bored into his physician with a burning intensity, until Patroclese gave a slight nod that he understood. "As for punishment, well, beatings impress the men, and since she managed to severely injure at least three of the guard force, I think the least she deserves is ten lashes from Flaccus. Hardly enough to seriously debilitate her, with you to tend her injuries, but enough for fairness sake. However, I think that my slave gets too much rest and relaxation, so from now, until we return to Lugdunum, she gets no sleep. Lets see what a little exhaustion does for her resistance."

Patroclese bowed as he left the general's tent, and swore under his breath. He disliked this campaign to break the woman's spirit. Yet he was in no position to do anything about it. Xena was Caesar's property, and Caesar was virtual ruler of Rome.

The Warrior Princess remembered very little about the march to rejoin the VIIth legion. She was vaguely aware that the wooden beam was back to pin her arms, and that the additional chains had been re-attached for her guards to control her, but the actual march was lost in a haze of cloudy impressions that flitted through her detached consciousness.

They were back with the legion by midday, and the officers had been alerted to be ready to move out as soon as their commander rejoined them. By this time, Xena was shaking off the foggy feeling caused by the drug, and became aware of the interest being shown by the legionaries they now marched with.

She heard the questions asked of her guard maniple about her, and their answers. Most of the soldiers of the VIIth Legion, were frankly disbelieving when told about the danger this one woman warrior posed, but many of them knew members of the elite guard and knew that they were some of the best fighters selected from various units especially for this task. The result was that soon the men of the VIIth became as wary of the dangerous slave as the guard maniple were.

When they made camp for the evening, Caesar decided that Xena's punishment would do very well for entertaining his troops. A post was set up in a clear space within the camp and the Warrior Princess was hauled up, hands above her head once her leather belt was released. Patroclese eased the shirt up her back and over her head so that it left her flesh clear for the whip. "This slave attempted to run," Caesar announced, "In doing so she seriously injured three legionnaires. The punishment for this crime will be ten lashes laid on well by Senior Centurion Flaccus. I want you all to note that this slave is highly dangerous. She is also my personal property. I expect you all to guard against her getting free again. In the unlikely event that she should manage to do so, I want her taken alive for me to deal with as I see fit. Is this understood."

"YES SIR!" came the response from close to five thousand men. A full legion was something even Xena would think twice about before taking on alone.

"Carry on with the punishment, Senior Centurion," instructed Caesar.

The ten lashes were laid on hard, although to be honest, Xena had little difficulty in holding her silence against the pain. Flaccus had good control of the whip and he was able to lay the strokes in an even pattern that cut her back from shoulders to waist. The Warrior Princess had clenched her teeth and fists, closed her eyes and turned her thoughts far away from her present situation.

She had borne far worse treatment in her life. Her previous whipping at Flaccus's hands had been far more gruelling; her body had been in a pretty unhealthy condition at that time and there had been double the number of lashes to be endured. It hurt. But it wasn't unbearable and she was even able to smile condescendingly at her tormentor, making his brown eyes flicker with annoyance and anger.

The men were dismissed and Patroclese stepped up to attend the deep cuts in her back. She winced more when the vinegar was applied to clean the wounds than when they were being inflicted upon her. The salve that the healer then used made her draw a sharp intake of breath as it stung like fire, but gradually it produced a numbing sensation that allowed her to relax somewhat.

"Thanks," she said softly as she leaned her forehead against the post in relief that that particular ordeal was over. As the healer packed his equipment away, she asked, "Any idea what he has in mind for me next?"

Patroclese looked at her with troubled eyes. She couldn't see his face but she could feel his tension and uncertainty, "He wants to break you, Xena. He sees you as a challenge, and I think he needs challenges in his life."

"Did you tell him?" she asked very quietly.

"No," said the healer after a pause, "and I won't. You are suffering enough without my adding to your burden ... or Gabrielle's." he added almost too softly to hear.

"What does he intend doing with her?" questioned Xena, more than a touch of anxiety in her voice.

"You know he'll use her against you," Patroclese told her. He stood and worked the shirt back over her head and eased it over the tender flesh of her back. "Once he gets you back together he'll make certain that you see her beaten and humiliated. He thinks it will help break your will to resist him, and he's probably right. I know how much you care for Gabrielle."

"Patroclese," she said low and urgently, "I know you're a good man. You've got to help get Gabrielle away from him. I'll take whatever I've got coming. My past misdeeds have earned me no less, and probably much more, but she shouldn't have to suffer for my sins."

"I can't," the healer said unsteadily, "I can't."

"Please," whispered the Warrior Princess in desperation.

"I'm sorry," returned Patroclese quietly. "Look I'll get you something to eat. I know you haven't eaten for two days, and I don't want a repeat of what happened last time." He saw the mute plea in her incredible blue eyes and shook his head, "I'm sorry, I can't," he repeated before picking up his medical kit and heading off to the cook's tent to get some stew.

Xena closed her eyes to hide the desperation she couldn't crush. Caring for others was a liability to her, but Gabrielle's friendship and trust had given her so much and the little bard had inevitably found her way through the walls and defences that she had erected around her heart. If Hercules had been the one to discover she still had a heart, it was the gentle kindness and honest friendship of Gabrielle that had slowly returned it to life.

She grunted with surprise and pain as one of her usual guards jabbed her sharply in the ribs with his baton, "Keep your eyes open wench. There's to be no sleep for you this night." He and his mates laughed unpleasantly. None of them had gotten any sleep the previous night and they felt far from kindly towards her for her part in that.

Patroclese came back with a large bowl of stew and a thick wedge of bread, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to feed you," he apologised. "Orders are you remain there for the night."

She sighed in resignation and ate mechanically as Patroclese spooned the stew, and held the bread for her to take bites from. When she'd finished the meal, he held up a mug for her to take a drink from, "Wine?" she questioned in surprise.

"I figured you could probably do with something a bit stronger than water," he answered with a clipped smile, "Make the most of it," he advised and offered up the cup for another longer swallow, allowing her to drink at her own pace until it the cup was drained.

"Thanks, I needed that," she agreed.

"Try not to aggravate your guards," he advised, "I'd rather not get up in the morning and find another collection of wounds that need treating."

Xena felt the underlying humour of that and graced him with one of her quirky half smiles, "As if I'd do that," she told him.

"Ha!" was his reply as he took the cup and bowl back to the mess tent. "I'll check on your back in the morning and bring you some breakfast."

The camp settled down as the light faded from the sky and darkness descended over the long rows of tents. The only illumination in the camp was made by the four large fires set around the post that Xena was chained to, brightly lighting the area to give the guards a clear view of her at all times. Every time, her eyes threatened to drift closed, she felt the sharp jab from the end of a baton.

Lack of sleep was something she was used to coping with. She hadn't slept well for many years and rarely went an entire night without spending some hours sleepless. She had, on occasion, gone as long as three days without any sleep at all, so remaining awake that night was no particular hardship.

The following morning, Patroclese had returned and plastered more salve over her cuts, before feeding her the standard meat porridge for breakfast. She ate it to keep up her strength. She'd promised Gabrielle and she tried to keep the promises she made, especially to her bardic friend.

The day had been harsh. Once they replaced that beam across her back, the pain from the whip cuts had intensified ten fold and had her biting her lip to keep from groaning at the agony it induced. She could feel the seeping blood as it leaked from the abrasions, soaked into her shirt and slid in little runnels down her back, pooling around the tight leather belt at her waist.

During the stop for lunch, Patroclese returned and had the wooden restraint removed while he cleaned her wounds once more and plastered more of the salve over them. They both knew that by the evening stop that the heavy wood would have rubbed the abrasions raw, but it was a price that she was forced to pay for her intractable stubbornness. While she resisted Caesar he would take every precaution to limit her capacity for either escape or violent retaliation to his 'games'.

That evening they had camped in a clearing around a huge oak tree and Xena had been chained, by her collar leashes, to a convenient branch about three foot above her head. Held in that way she couldn't sit, being forced to stand upright or choke against the collar. Her arms were released from the imprisonment of the length of wood, and Patroclese did his work in clearing up the lash wounds, paying particular attention to the ones chafed by the beam.

"Most of these are healing pretty well," he told her as he worked. "The cuts above and below where that spar rests are already closed and they won't need any more treatment after tomorrow. But those four in the middle of your back, they're going to cause us problems."

"I'll manage," she gritted out as he dabbed at the wounds with his astringent and then covered them in salve.

"Xena," he hissed pleadingly, "can't you just give in. If not for your own sake, then for Gabrielle's?"

His plea was met with a clenched jaw and an icy stare. He knew that he was wasting his efforts in trying to talk her into accepting Caesar's mastery and he began to understand that it wouldn't just break her, it would destroy her to give Caesar best in this.

- I think I have the misfortune to be caught between two of history's most indomitable wills, - he thought sadly. - Neither will be satisfied until they have achieved victory over the other. The question is, what will be the cost to them, and those around them? - Patroclese fed her once more and made sure that she had plenty of water to drink before retiring for the night.

Her time was spent uncomfortably awake. Her legs were tired and aching and sleep was denied her, firstly by the way she had been secured, and secondly by the constant prodding she received in the ribs if her eyes drifted shut. Despite being deprived of sleep, she was still alert and would remain so for some time yet, although she recognised Caesar's current game and knew that she would eventually succumb to exhaustion.

The next few days followed the same pattern as they made their way back to Lugdunum. By the fourth day of the march, Xena began to feel the effects of her enforced wakefulness as she frequently stumbled, and on one occasion fell heavily, scraping her face badly on the rough road as she was unable to break her fall.

The final day's march back to the city was a nightmare as she tried to focus her wandering attention on putting one foot in front of the other. she stumbled frequently and took three more serious falls that left her with a swollen and sprained left wrist, a painfully scraped jaw and a black eye where she had caught her face on a large stone.

She felt a painful gratitude when she was finally locked up into her familiar cell in Lugdunum's garrison barracks, and a sense of relief that they were actually going to let her sleep for a while. Free of the wooden beam, she slumped into the straw at the back of the cell and closed her eyes. She knew that she should fight the feelings that she was experiencing; gratitude and relief were emotions on that slippery slope that Caesar was trying to force her down. He was using tried and trusted techniques to break her will. She knew. She recognised them. She'd used them in her dark past. And she was beginning to believe that she was no more proof against them than any other tormented soul was.