Xena moved back across the length of the parade ground and bent to seek another hand hold on one of the head sized boulders that lay in a pile there. Picking up the one closest to her she worked, without need to concentrate, upon her mindless labour.

There were two hundred and thirty eight rocks in the pile. She knew each one intimately as, for the past fourteen days, she had spent every afternoon since arriving in Rome moving the pile from one side to the other of the drill yard, under the full glare of the burning sun. The task was designed to keep her active and fit, occupied, and exhausted. It was mind numbing, endless, pointless, physical labour, devised to break her spirit.

That first night in the pit had been one of mixed despair and tentative hope. Despair, because she felt helpless and totally without control. She hated that feeling with all her being. Not since the age of five, when Toris and his friends had ambushed her and locked her into a grain bin for an entire day, as retribution for some prank she had pulled on them, had she been in such a situation .. and she'd sworn at that early age never to be so again if she could do anything at all about it.

The misery and the despair was only staved off by the small shards of hope that seeing Hercules and Ephiny had created within her. She had friends working for her freedom and, - If only I understood what Eph meant correctly, - she'd told herself, - then Gabrielle is free and safe! - It was a warm ember of comfort that allowed her to pass her an uncomfortable night, huddled in one of the two, mainly covered, corners of the hole, under her two blankets.

At first light, come morning, she was awoken by the sound of the locks being opened and the bolt drawn back on the barred grill. She roused herself and slowly stood as the trap door was thrown back and a ladder let down into the hole, "Get you worthless carcass up here, slave!" had come Flaccus' unmistakable growl.

She could have forced them to come and get her, but self-preservation dictated that she co-operate .. she needed to get herself fit if she was ever going to wriggle free from Roman clutches. She had slowly climbed the ladder and, upon gaining the drill yard, stood docilely before the centurion, with her head bowed in seeming meek submission.

Flaccus was not fooled by the act. She knew it, and he knew that she was aware of it, but while she was being amenable, he was content to let things be, other than to warn his men about becoming lax, "Whatever face she chooses to display, she's still the same barbarian bitch that has slaughtered her way around the Empire! So for your own sakes, never .. ever .. relax around her."

They'd taken her into the palace and down into the basements where baths had been built for the use of the household's slaves. Entry was via a thickly barred gate that was closed and locked as Xena, Flaccus and a guard of twenty passed it, leaving a further twenty men on duty on the far side, should they be required to subdue their charge.

Taking note of all salient facets of the facility, Xena was not surprised to find Patroclese waiting for her. What did, mildly, surprise her was that after the centurion locked the collar chain to her neck and a ringbolt set into the floor next to the bath, he proceeded to remove both her leg irons and the manacles along with the leather belt.

"Strip your trousers off, Xena, but leave your shirt on. I want to give the water a chance to loosen the dried blood before we attempt to get it off. I'd rather not have to deal with more bloody wounds than necessary," Patroclese told her.

She did as she was instructed, and slipped into the water, eager for the chance to remove the filth and grime that had encrusted itself on her body since her last bath in the river after the treaty agreement with Verchinex, - How long ago was that? - she silently questioned herself, - Close on a moon ago, - she calculated. - Other than being doused with sea water after the flogging, I haven't been close to wash water. I must smell riper than a midden! -

She was pleasantly surprised at the gentle warmth of the water and Patroclese noticing the look on her face, told her, "The baths here are heated by a hypercaust. Slaves don't get the full range of baths, but the tepidarium here is nice enough."

Sinking down into the relaxing warmth, she resisted the urge to wince as her assorted wounds stung from the water. She watched silently as Patroclese stripped down to his loincloth, selected a thin sharp knife from his kit, and slipped into the water, wading in behind her, where he began to delicately cut the linen fabric away from the crusted lash cuts.

He took his time, allowing the water to do most of his work for him, intent upon insuring that he did as little damage to the healing skin as possible. Xena sat motionless beginning to relax in the seductive warmth of the water, enjoying a small luxury in her Tartarus filled existence.

Finally, Patroclese finished easing the shirt off of her back and she was able to discard the garment to the side of the bath. She heard the healer splash his way out of the pool and turned when he called her name, "Xena, here catch," he said as he threw her a bar of strong smelling soap.

A graceful, golden arm, striped with blue and purple welts, snaked out of the water and caught the soap in mid flight, "Thanks," she grinned, and began to work on cleaning the collected filth from her skin and hair.

She had been escorted from the baths, through the barred door and down another long corridor to a small windowless room containing a long marble slab table. Even on such a short walk, Flaccus had not relaxed his vigilance. As soon as she stepped out of the bath, the leg irons had been replaced. Patroclese had given her a length of linen to wrap around herself, and then the centurion had replaced the belt and the manacles, before releasing the leash and tugging her in the direction of the exit.

Once she had reached the small cell like room, the belt and manacles had been removed, "Get on the table, face down, slave," Flaccus had ordered.

She did as instructed, not speaking, not hesitating to obey. She needed to avoid more injuries if she was going to be in a fit state for escape and that meant putting the lid on her pride and stubbornness for a while. Once she was settled in place, the centurion secured the leash to a ring in the base of the slab, and used a chain already set for the purpose to lock to the links of the leg irons, pretty much holding her in place.

"Is that really necessary," Patroclese asked in a patient though already defeated tone.

"The room's not big enough for more than one guard in each corner," the centurion stated flatly, so the restraints should make sure she stays put … at least until I can get enough men in here to secure her should it prove necessary." His hand shot out and grabbed a large fistful of her wet hair, turning her face towards his, "I'm watching you," he warned, "This sudden compliance doesn't fool me. You're up to something and I'm ready for it."

She kept her eyes cast down, refusing to look him in the eye knowing that, however else she acted, she couldn't disguise the fire that burned there. So she took shelter in silence and docility, aware that this 'new' tactic would probably have Flaccus on a razor edge of expectation, waiting for her to try something.

"That's enough, Flaccus," the healer told him sternly. "I have my job to do and there's much scheduled for the rest of the day. Let me get my work done so we can all get on."

Patroclese had worked steadily for more than two candlemarks checking over the lacerations that scored his patient's back; adding extra stitches where they were required, using a biting cleanser to ensure that there wouldn't be any risk of infection, tending the lash weals over her arms and legs; applying salve to all the injuries and aloe to the blistered burns that still marked her shoulders and arms.

When he had finished working on her back, he'd called Flaccus in to release the lock on the leg irons so that Xena could turn over to enable him to tend the various injuries that ran down the front of her body. The centurion complied wordlessly, but made sure the restraints were secured once more before he allowed the physician to continue his work.

After Patroclese had finished his ministrations, Xena was given a gray, thigh length tunic and a pair of under-britches, for modesty's sake, as well as having her boots returned to her. After being allowed, with the normal elaborate precautions, to dress once more she was escorted, fully shackled, back up out of the palace's cellars into daylight once again.

As she blinked in the bright light of morning, Xena felt better than she had in days and she knew that being clean played a part in that, although the thought of the close proximity of her friends definitely helped. A ghost of a smile almost played across her lips as she allowed the tug of the leash to guide her from the door of the cellars and across the drill-yard towards a different part of the palace.

Half way across the open yard, her good mood evaporated as she caught sight of a group of soldiers escorting a small woman with golden, honey blonde, hair down a colonnade away from her. Xena felt her heart clench, "Gabrielle," she whispered. And then, as the guard around her friend closed tighter and hurried the struggling woman away, she cried louder, "Gabrielle!" and took a lunge at the wall of soldiers surrounding her, trying to break through to reach the bard.

The guards swarmed around her. Flaccus retained a firm grip on her leash as she struggled to bypass the flesh and blood barrier that restricted her progress. Surprisingly, they didn't hit her. Just used their weight of numbers to bear her down to the ground and contain her there until she finished heaving.

"Gabrielle," she whispered again, despondency seeping into her with the knowledge that her hopes for escape were shattered.

Seeing the fight drain out of his captive, Flaccus ordered her to be hoisted upright. He indulged himself in a full-blooded slap that left the print of his hand emblazoned upon her left cheek. He noted, with satisfaction, the dull look of uncaring acceptance in her eyes, "Your outburst here will cost the bard five strokes of the strap tonight. I'll have them administered here in the courtyard after you're back in your kennel. If you give me any cause to reprimand you again, she will receive an additional five strokes,"

He recognised the brief flare in the blue eyes, but it was quickly extinguished, "All punishments you earn will be taken by the bard. Lord Caesar wants you fit and well to fight in the pits. What that means is, you behave or she suffers the consequences. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir," she answered flatly, and knew that she was once again hamstrung.

The whole maniple had been assembled to escort her down to the Coliseum. There she was given into the care of the Lanista, Marius Sutones, who had been instructed to put her through the gladiator school training schedules from three candlemarks after dawn, until one candlemark after midday.

The Coliseum's training areas were mostly indoors and very heavily guarded. Even so Flaccus, and forty of his men, armed with pistol crossbows and drugged darts, remained on duty in addition to the normal gladiatorial guards that surrounded their charges.

Standing in the Lanista's office with Xena and six guards, Flaccus instructed, "Nothing too strenuous, at least to start with. She's got a lot of injuries to heal from. And she's not to get near any weapon of any description. She won't be fighting in the arena, Lord Caesar wants her for the pits."

Sutones considered the slave cautiously. His professional eye noted the quality of the shackles that bound her and the very unusual slave collar. He could see the sleek power of her muscular body and was very aware of the uneasy respect that the guards surrounding her were giving to their charge.

Walking behind Xena, he pulled at the neck of her tunic and looked down it to the mixture of raw and healing wounds that covered her flesh, "She looks like trouble," he stated matter-of-factly, "Any other instructions come with her?"

The Warrior Princess had closed her eyes and clenched her fists until her knuckles shone white through her bronzed skin. She had always borne a hatred of the principle of slavery and now, after experiencing the dehumanising process for herself, she had further reasons to despise it as an institution.

Noting Sutones's careful study of his charge, Flaccus approved of the Lanista. He was a man who knew his job and was businesslike in it's performance. As one professional to another, Flaccus knew the man would accept some advice without getting prickly about it, "No instructions, but if I were you I'd make sure that she only trains in closed, closely guarded, areas. Keep her in those fetters unless it's necessary to do otherwise, and if she causes any trouble get my boys to deal with it. They're used to handling her," he smiled grimly. "Oh, and one last thing. Don't ever make the mistake of thinking she's harmless, even when safely shackled. In the time we've had her she's killed twelve of my men and put another thirteen out of commission."

"So a real savage," breathed Sutones not in the least put out by the information, "Don't worry, we've had her type here before, I'm sure we can accommodate her."

Clenching her jaw tightly, Xena resisted the urge to make a scathing comment about the type of person that both the Lanista and the centurion were. She couldn't afford to provoke either man, although she longed for a time when such considerations became moot.

"Just a word of caution, Lanista. Whoever you've had to deal with before, if you multiply their capacity for causing trouble by ten, then maybe, just maybe, you'll get close to the danger she can cause you."

"She's that good?" questioned Sutones incredulously, finding it difficult not to doubt the centurion, even though he could tell that Flaccus was not the man to exaggerate.

"Took almost two hundred men to take her," acknowledged the centurion, "along with an awful lot of planning and a small grain of luck.

Marius Sutones nodded his head impressed as much by what Flaccus didn't say as by what he had, "Your men will be in close attendance whenever she's here?"

He received a curt nod in reply from Flaccus who then turned to Xena and, using the butt of his whip under her chin, lifted her head to look directly into her eyes that flashed dangerously for just a heartbeat, "You will obey all instructions given to you promptly. You will answer any question put to you respectfully. In fact you will behave as a model slave should, or … well you know who will suffer if you don't, don't you?"

Glaring, Xena had responded, "Yes, sir."