The sea battle had effectively destroyed the bulk of the Carthaginian fleet, but a decision had been made to spend an extra few days mopping up any of the enemy ships that had escaped the carnage of the combat. Although Caesar was anxious to return to Rome, he was aware that his involvement in a crushing sea victory against Carthage, however tenuous his own part, would allow him a triumphal entry to his city.

Xena wasted little thought on reflecting how things had turned out. Three days on from the battle, and she was living in a world of searing agony, trying to cope with a back that had been stripped of it's flesh by Flaccus's whip, and the added torment of being left exposed to the merciless fire of the sun.

She was held spreadeagled facing into a section of grating that had been secured upright to the thick bole of the ships mast. She had been there for three days and two nights now. Three days of searing fire and pain filled delirium. Two nights of shivering agony and dark dreams. As she stood there, helpless, her thoughts continuously returned to the punishment Caesar had ordained for her.

After spending what remained of the night, after the Romans had found them, suspended from the mast .. mostly in blessed oblivion thanks to the crack on the head she had taken .. she had awoken to the screaming resentment of her shoulder muscles which had been tortured by the unnatural weight and pull placed on them by gravity and the manacles that stopped them from hanging down normally.

Her head ached with a throbbing pain centred in her right temple where she had struck the deck as she was pulled off of her feet by Romans detailed to haul her up where she would be rendered helpless. The ache was intensified by the motion of the ship as she swung in rhythm with it and frequently collided with the unyielding mass of the thick mast.

- All in all, - she had admitted to herself, - I have felt better. - She winced as the roll of the ship swung her into the mast once more and she struck one of her tortured shoulders, - So Xena, was shaking Caesar that little bit worth this? - she asked herself. - Damn right! - she growled back in answer, - although I doubt Gabrielle will see it that way. And I don't doubt that Caesar has something far more ... agonising in mind for the morning. -

She had been right about that, of course. She moved her head carefully and tried to rub her long hair away from her eyes with the aid of the grating. It hurt. Any movement, no matter how small, hurt! Sometimes she found it difficult to remember a time when she didn't hurt. A single tear ran traitorously down her dirt smeared cheek, leaving the track of it's passage in evidence behind it.

The sun had been up a full three candlemarks before Flaccus had ordered her cut down. She had crashed back to the bare planking, twisting to take as much of the impact on her strained shoulders as possible, reluctant to take another heavy hit to her head.

Bright lights flashed through her brain as the racking distress of those joints were intensified by the immediate pain of the fall. Biting her lip to stifle the groan that threatened to erupt, she sought to press her hurts into the compartment of her mind she maintained for the purpose.

She was aware of the rope being removed from her ankles, but the raw chaffing it had left was only a minor inconvenience in her current state. Far worse was the sudden rough grabbing of her arms as she was pulled to her feet. The induced agony of the movement and, after a night of being upside down, the abrupt change to vertical, led to a momentary loss of control.

She vomited.

A fist cracked heavily against her jaw, causing the lights to return and flash in turmoil as she struggled against her need to be sick again and tried to focus her attention on the world around her. She blinked owlishly at the livid face of Flaccus before her and realised that he had been the recipient of most of her puke. She allowed a half mocking crooked smile to play on her lips and braced herself for the backhanded blow that she knew she had goaded from Flaccus. - Dumb, Xena, - she chided herself. - Aren't you in enough trouble without practically begging for more? -

She felt the slow trickle of blood as it seeped from a fresh cut at the corner of her mouth and again deliberately allowed the mocking half smile to appear, as she realised that she could disrupt their immediate plans for her .. or at least their satisfaction in them. - Maybe, if I'm lucky, Flaccus will beat me senseless so I won't feel what Caesar's got planned for me, - she thought, and then added, - Yeah and Centaurs might fly! -

Flaccus had glared at her, before smiling a chilling, mirthless smile of his own. He knew what she was trying to do, "It won't work!" he growled at her, "You're going to feel every bit of what's coming to you. Afterwards .. there will be plenty of time for us to discuss the appropriate behaviour of a slave in the presence of a Roman."

She held his eye, knowing that she had made an implacable enemy in Flaccus. The man was devoted to Caesar, and she'd not only laid hands on centurion's hero, but had also caused injury to him. - What had Caesar said? He respects me. - Well Xena saw no respect there now, just cold, hard, determination to break a slave of her rebellious spirit once and for all.

"Bite me!" she growled, her voice hoarse from lack of water.

She winced as she tried to ease her aching muscles. Ropes, passed through the grating, pinned her tight against it. She was bound at the ankles, knees, waist, upper arms elbows, wrists and neck. The restraint around her waist was excruciating where it cut into flayed flesh, as was the one around her neck. She bit her lip and refused to allow the howl of agony to escape her lips.

She had watched as a grating had been removed from over the slave pit and made secure to the mast by thick ropes. At Flaccus's nod she had been dragged over to it, her shirt had been torn from her back, before the irons had been unlocked from her wrists. She barely had time to flex her muscles before she was roughly seized and bound to the grating with heavy rope. Three loops around each of her wrists, elbows and upper arms holding her tightly in place.

Then they removed her leg irons, moved her limbs apart and roped her ankles and knees in place, putting a heavy strain on her muscles knowing that she would, in time be forced to hang against the rough hemp bonds and endure the chaffing it brought.

- Little things, - she thought, - Minor irritations individually, but when taken as part of the whole .... - she allowed the thought to drift as she became aware of movement up on the stern deck. His arm in a sling, only wearing a light tunic rather than the armour that would seriously chafe his sunburnt skin, the deep purple and black of the chain marks around his neck. She permitted herself a quirky smile of satisfaction.

The men of the guard maniple began to assemble on the decks around her, leaving ten foot of deck space clear beneath the rail where Caesar stood.

- The maniple is beginning to shrink, - she noted, aware that she had hospitalised more than a few as well as killing some of the men who guarded against her escape.

Somewhere behind her, a drummer began to beat a steady tattoo. Xena, along with the soldiers assembled to witness the morning's punishments, watched as five men were hustled out on deck and were made to kneel facing where their commander stood. The rhythm of the drum halted.

"These men failed in their duty," announced Caesar, his voice made husky by the bruising he has sustained. "All know the penalty for such failure. For allowing the slave, Xena, to escape these men will be executed." He nodded to Flaccus.

Once again the drummer beat his tattoo, allowing a rolling flourish to orchestrate the show being performed, punctuating each death with a sharp rap on the stretched skin of the instrument.

"Publius Oranis!" Flaccus announced as a man in a black hood swung his axe and expertly decapitated the first of the men.

Xena's muscles strained against her bonds. She was the cause of these mens deaths.

"Lucius Trantares!" continued Flaccus, and the axe fell once again.

It was true that she would have sent them to the other side herself if it had meant she, Gabrielle and her friends could be free.

"Marcus Martellus!" came another name, followed yet again by the 'swoosh!' of the death dealing axe.

- This isn't punishment! This is murder! - her mind raged as she watched the continuation of Roman justice.

"Publius Voranus!" was the fourth name, and death.

- I will not be made to feel responsible for these deaths! - swore Xena, - All of these men treat me like a chained beast. -

"Brassius Davros!" came the final announcement from the list of the condemned and a final head joined the four others on the deck.

Silence washed across the decks in the wake of the crimson river bearing mute testimony to the justice of Caesar. "The sentence has been carried out, Lord Caesar," announced Flaccus.

"Let all remember and learn from it," warned the Roman nobleman.

- I cannot accept responsibility for his actions, - insisted the mind of the Warrior Princess, although her aching heart spoke otherwise, - If I accept this as my fault, I have no chance of ever freeing myself or Gabrielle. They chose to follow Caesar. They knew the risks of joining this detail. He and they must take responsibility! - Her practical brain told her.

She looked up into the remorseless brown eyes of her captor, - Do you ever feel guilt for what you have caused to be done? - she wondered as she expressed all her hatred and loathing in steely blue eyes.

Caesar smirked at her, knowing her to be impotent in her bondage. He waited until the bodies and heads of the dead men had been thrown over the side of the ship. Men derelict in their duty did not deserve the honour of a proper burial. - Another lesson for the troops! - thought Xena contemptuously.

"As for my slave," attention returned to the Roman commander, "her crimes are only to be expected. She is an uncivilized barbarian who knows no better ... yet! However, although I have no wish to execute this piece of property that I went to such lengths to acquire, she must learn a slave's place within Roman society." He looked sternly at his men, "I have little doubt, that even after this punishment, this slave will still struggle against her lot. Men! You must be vigilant against it. You have seen the penalty of failure. The reward, for those of you performing a duty well done, will be a gift of one hundred gold dinars each."

- Very clever, Julius! - she silently complimented him. - The carrot and the stick! You've shown them the price for failure and will buy their loyalty with gold. The consummate warlord commander! -

"The punishment for the crimes of the slave, Xena, will be twofold. She will receive fifty lashes ...."

His announcement was punctuated by the mutters of disbelief from the soldiers who had never seen anyone survive a whipping of that magnitude.

"SILENCE!" bellowed Flaccus, gaining immediate quiet.

"Fifty lashes," repeated Caesar, "split into two groups of twenty five. The first group to be administered now, the second twenty-five to be given at this hour tomorrow. The slave will be left bound to that grating, as an example to all, until we reach Rome. No one, other than the healer, Patroclese, or Centurion Flaccus, is to touch her, unless I specifically order otherwise." He nodded at Flaccus as he moved around behind Xena to executed the sentence of flogging upon her, the drummer once again beating out his tattoo in accompaniment.

Xena clenched her fists remembering the exquisite agony of the burning whip as it tore her bronzed flesh. Flaccus had drawn blood from the first lash as he scoured her back from right shoulder to left hip. She remembered biting down hard, stubbornly refusing to cry out as she endured the assault. She remembered the beads of sweat that had gathered on her forehead as she strained to hold her silence. Holding back the almost silent whimpers she had allowed to escape, refusing to let them grow in volume to become full blooded cries of agony.

And then it had ended.

She had hung shivering from the ropes that held her, drawing deep lungfuls of air as she tried to control her shaking muscles, tried to push the pain away. Tried to endure.

She screamed when a bucket of salt water was thrown over her bloody back, partly to wash the cuts, partly to revive her enough to listen to Caesar's words. He was stood in front of her, looking intently into her eyes, trying to see any cracks in her resolve; her will.

"I will remit the whipping tomorrow, if you beg for mercy, Xena," he told her starkly. "No more pain .. all you have to do is beg me."

Gathering her resistance she mustered the effort and forced the icy glint into her eyes, "Never!" she told him as forcefully as she could manage. The word quavered a little tinged with the agony she endured but her resolve was firm.

Caesar shook his head, almost sadly, "You will have to learn the hard way, Xena. But remember, the choice was yours." He turned away and moved a few steps, before stopping, hesitating and looking over his shoulder, "You have up until the punishment starts again tomorrow to change your mind. I won't ask you again, but I will give mercy if you beg for it."

"When Tartarus freezes over," she gritted out through clenched teeth.

She closed her eyes against the blazing sun, feeling the burns it made on her arms, and the aching sickness it caused in her unprotected head. - Little things, - she reminded herself. She had made him suffer the pain of sunburn, he returned the compliment tenfold.

Patroclese had come to attend the wounds on her back, carefully cleaning them with a strong vinegar solution that had made her writhe with the effort to keep her groans barely audible as the acidic astringent bit deep into the raw flesh that her back had been reduced to.

"The flow's beginning to stop already," he spoke quietly as he worked carefully trying not to hurt her any more than was necessary. He was still amazed at how quickly the woman healed.

"Oh fine," she panted her tone larded with sarcasm, "Well there will be plenty more work for you tomorrow."

"Xena ...." he started.

"Forget it. Not now, not ever," she told him slowly as she forced down the agony.

Patroclese shook his head dejectedly as he continued his work, applying a soothing salve over the wounds, carefully working around the ones that really needed stitching, but unable to treat them because the resumption of the punishment on the morrow would just rip them out, "You need to drink," he told her, holding a flask to her lips.

She nearly choked on the fiery spirits as they burned their way down her throat, firing her blood, giving her a little extra strength, "I think I would have preferred water," she told him.

"That's next," he said holding up a skin and allowing her to drain what she wanted from it, "You also need to eat." She nodded acceptance and swallowed her pride as he spoon-fed her the gruel that passed for breakfast on the ship. "I'll be back to check on you," he promised.

Leaning her head against the grating, Xena sought for a way to relax. She knew that she had put up a good performance through that first day, even when Flaccus had added the rope ties around her neck and waist that had made her whimper involuntarily at the added stress it placed on her wounds.

The next day, - Yesterday, - her mind told her, had been far worse.

She'd had all night to think about what the coming day would bring. The anguish that her pulverised back had felt, screamed out against a renewed assault. She had an option. She could crawl to Caesar and avoid the pain, but that act would cut her heart and soul to ribbons.

She had not begged for mercy, and Caesar, via Flaccus, had given none. After the rope around her neck and waist had been removed, reopening the partially healed cuts, the flogging began again. This time the lash strokes ran from her left shoulder to her right hip, crossing the lacerations from the day before and burning like molten lava.

Her screams had started early. She tried to fight them down, but it was too much. Each lash wrung a response from her throat and tears had streamed unchecked .. uncheckable, down her finely sculpted cheeks.

She thought that she'd passed out before they reached the halfway point of the punishment. They had revived her with a bucket of seawater dashed over the wounds on her back, and then continued with the flogging, although she quickly succumbed to insensibility once more. She knew she remembered nothing after that, until she heard Patroclese's voice as he finished his ministrations. While she had been unconscious, he stitched what he could of her remaining skin back together and had done his best to ease her agony with a cool, numbing salve.

When Flaccus had put the ropes back around her neck and waist, she had surrendered to oblivion once more.

Now, after three days of hunting the remnant of the Carthaginian fleet, they were again turning for Rome. "Another three days," she had heard someone saying, "and we'll be home."

She sighed in weary resignation. Her chances for making an escape, once Caesar had her in Rome, would diminish significantly. There was nothing she could do about it. She was completely powerless, a situation she hated with all her being. Yet tied and helpless as she was, she couldn't help but hope, that somehow, someway, a chance would come.

As she stood beneath the blazing sun, thoughts of Gabrielle filled her mind and lulled her into a waking dream. She almost felt she could hear her gentle bard's voice as the sea breeze blew a welcome respite across her hot tired body. But, as she listened to the silent words a frown etched itself onto her brow.

"Not your fault, Gabrielle," she murmured in her half conscious state, "Never your fault." A smile played over her lips as she whispered, "I love you too, Gabrielle."