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Dayne was worried about Becca. In fact, she was almost panic stricken. It had been five days since she had last seen her lover. She was certain she had to act if she was ever going to see her love again. Waiting in the tall grass behind Becca's house, Dayne clutched the string tied to a dead rabbit by both her dirty, manacled hands. She was waiting for Becca's sister, Charis, to come outside in search of food. She had heard the muffled cries of the girls and their mother over the last few days as she waited, hidden behind the grass, for some sign of Becca. Certain their tears were from hunger, Dayne wanted nothing more than to just bring them a couple of rabbits or a fish but the risk of getting caught in the daylight hours was too high. On the third day of Dayne's vigil, Charis had bravely ventured outside to search the waste barrel for some forgotten scrap of food. Dayne made a soft sound like a downed bird hoping the girl would be smart enough to seek easy prey. Instead, a terrified Charis ran back inside the shuttered house.

"Please let today be different. Let me have a little luck," Dayne silently prayed to Senecos' forbidden gods. "I'll get her to come close by pulling on the string and moving the rabbit. When she's close enough, I'll let her know it's me. Maybe then I can find out where Becca is."

Once the sun was high and Offan went off to beg a drink or even work for one, Charis snuck out into the yard again. Dayne remained silent, hoping her plan would work this time. She tugged the string and the rabbit appeared to hop. Charis spotted the movement immediately. Crouching low, the girl crept toward the bait. Dayne made it hop again. Charis crept a bit closer. She stopped cold when she spotted the string.

"By Waur's tears," Dayne cursed to herself, "nothing ever goes easy for me."

Diving forward, Dayne managed to tackle Charis. The girl struggled but she was no match for the half blood. Her cry for help was cut off when Dayne clamped her hand around Charis' mouth.

"No, no, no, don't scream, please don't scream. It's me. It's Dayne. I'm Becca's friend. You know me, right?" She was pleading with the back of the girl's head. "I use to carry you to town on my shoulders when your Dad still had the shop. Remember? Do you remember me?"

The girl nodded slowly. Dayne pulled Charis backward into the tall grass before releasing her hold on the child.

"Why're you chained?" Charis asked as she stared Dayne's chaffed and bruised wrists.

"I'm, ah…, my fath…, um, I mean sometimes…, families…, ah," Dayne kept her eyes focused on her hands trying to hold back her bitter tears. She decided to tell the truth of her captivity, "I was bad. The men took everything away from me. I'm a slave now."

"That's what happened to Becca. They made her a slave 'cause she was bad," Charis shook her head solemnly. "Papa gave her up to be sold away 'cause she was whorin' and not clean goods no more."

"What? How could…,? When did they…?" Dayne could feel her heart shattering beyond repair as she, unsuccessfully, tried to form a complete thought.

"It was the last time we ate. Becca brought in a rabbit. Papa and the Magistrate were waitin' on her. They said she was out whorin' around. They ask'n to know with who. Becca wouldn't tell 'em notin' 'bout it. So, they sold her to the Elosians." Charis looked back over her shoulder toward her yard and the deliciously dead animal laying in the grass, "Dayne, can I have that rabbit for our stewin'?"

"Huh? What? Oh yeah, take it," Dayne was sickened by the mere mention of food.

"Oh, boy, Momma and the girls will be so happy with me. I'll probably get the biggest servin' since I caught it. Are rabbits really hard to catch, Dayne? Maybe you could teach me the way you showed Becca? 'Cause I'm the oldest, what with Becca bein' gone." Charis babbled on about hunting for several heartbeats.

"Charis, do you understand what's happened here? Becca's gone. The Elosians have taken her away. You'll never get to see her again. She's been stolen from us and we'll never be able to find he again," Dayne's grief was barely under control enough to speak. "She is lost to us forever. We'll never get her back."

"Find her? Get her back?" Charis' eyes went wide, "Why would we want her? She's bad, Dayne. She gave herself to men, Elosian Soldiers, and cost Papa his money due for her bein' clean goods. He wouldn't get no price for a used girl. 'Specially, not a girl the soldiers had. Becca good as stole money from Papa and us."

"How can you talk about her like that? She kept you safe and warm and well fed. How can you pretend she doesn't matter to you?" Dayne eyed the girl suspiciously.

"Papa told us the truth! Papa said, 'cause Becca's a bad girl, that's why she's gone. Papa said, no worthless, soldiers' whore would be sleepin' in his house. Didn't matter, no matter at all, what she did for us before. He told us, it was all the worse than her just spreddin' herself for foreign men. She was tryin' to split our family up against him by bringing home food for us. Food caught by filthy Elosian soldiers. Better to starve, he said, than to eat spoilt food from them Elosians."

Dayne stared at the young girl in disbelief. Charis believed her father's tales completely. Every kind act Becca had performed to date was negated by her father's hateful words and unproven claims.

"I don't wanna talk no more. I wanna go home. Can I go now?" Charis whined slightly.

Dayne nodded. She was unable to find any argument suitable to change Charis understanding of the situation. So, she let the girl walk back to her home and the story she believed about Becca.

"Maybe it hurts her less to believe such terrible lies," Dayne considered as she dragged herself to her feet. "But, what will make my ache hurt any less? What can ease my pain?"

Dayne knew instantly what she needed. Revenge! Retribution from those pious villagers who condemned both Becca and her to an isolated life of slavery. To act on her desire for vengeance, she understood, would mean the forfeiture of the rest of her life.

"Without Becca by my side, I'd end up hanging myself anyway," she muttered as she went deeper into the woods to gather supplies for her retaliation.

The Elosian Soldiers leading the slaves to camp were not particularly brutal nor overly kind. They were simply soldiers completing a mission. If orders were given and obeyed then the trip went smoothly for the captives. If orders were given and ignored or were not achieved then punishment was dispensed as they felt appropriate.

Becca made sure to do exactly as the soldiers instructed. She kept her eyes down and mouth shut. Becca's beating at the hands of untrained villagers was enough to convince her she did not want to receive the same treatment from professionals.

In return for her passive acceptance of their authority, several soldiers made sure she was fed and given water periodically during the journey. They did not remove the chains that bound her but, instead, instructed the slave nearest to Becca to feed her.

"By Waur, terrifying and ferocious, there it is! Men, we have arrived!" A horse mounted soldier near Becca announced on the morning of the fifth sunrise since they left the village. "I don't think an outpost camp ever looked so good me!"

"Oh Denys, are you losing your sensibilities?" An older soldier called back in a light tone.

"No, he hasn't. He's just in love!" Soldiers all around erupted in laughter and whistles at the pronouncement from the midst's of the linemen.

"His wedding celebration is scheduled for two moons after our return. Isn't that right, Denys?" Another voice questioned.

Hearty laughter from the surrounding soldiers almost drowned out Denys reply, "It is and rightly so! I'm almost twenty plantings this spring. I'm almost too late to the banquet table. A wild celebration is in order, my friends. Think about it! A solid day of indulgence. FOOD! DRINK! And now slaves to enjoy! This will be the biggest feast our division has ever seen."

"When is your breeding leave, Equestrian?" A strong voice called out from the rows linemen.

"Ten moons before a chance to try for my son! The first born son of my own line. And I predict it to be a very long line, indeed. Pray that my woman is strong enough to bare a son each spring or I'll have the hide off her back," The horse soldier's snorted laughter was obnoxious.

Becca felt dirty listening to the casual banter about the soldier's planned intimate habits with his future wife. Apparently, Elosian women did not fair much better than the women of Becca's village. She heard stories of their marriage tradition. Elosian's excluded the bride from the ceremony. Her presence would distract from the purpose of marriage; create more soldiers. Weddings were festivals for the men to bond and promise each other the creation of sons to fill the army ranks. The soldiers would revel for a day of food, drink, and sensual pleasures. Officers and members of the groom's party would have their choice of slaves, linemen, and each other for sex. No body had the right to say 'no' during a nuptial celebration. And the only people not invited to participate was the bride and her family.

The soldiers' remarks quieted first then stilled when the solid wooden gates to the encampment opened. Noises and smells from beyond the high fortress walls seemed to race out to greet them. The sour warmth of unwashed men surrounded and embraced them. Mounted soldiers hurried their rides ever so slightly and the linemen prompted the slaves to step up the pace. In spite of Elosian confidence in their fighting skills, none of them were ready to expose the heart of their division to an attack.

Becca scrambled to keep up. The chains looped around her neck and binding her hands behind her back weighed heavily on her; choking back the last of her strength. Coupled with her fatigue and hunger, it was enough to throw her off balance. She fell after crossing into the camp.

"On your feet, slave," the soldier's order was punctuated with a whip strike.

Becca cried out when her skin broke open under the cruel leather blow. She struggled to get to her feet but her tired body could not respond fast enough to meet the soldier's demand.

"Up now!" Another crack tore another welt across her tender, fair skinned back. "Waur above, you villagers bleed so easy. Come on, girl! Get up! I said, get up!"

The third blow drove Becca back down into the dirt. She curled in a ball trying to protect her face. The rope connecting her to the rest of the cringing slaves pulled taut and dug into her waist. The lash stung her a forth time but, weak as she was, she unable to do anymore than scream out her pain to any who would listen.

"LINEMAN, get that slave out of the way! We need to close the gate," the deep voice seemed familiar to Becca.

"She won't get off her ass. Lazy villager," another whip strike followed the frustrated words.

"For the love of Waur, do I have to do of everything myself?" Strong but gentle hands pulled Becca a few feet further into the camp before lifting her to stand. "Becca?" The name was whispered in a question.

Becca inched her gaze upward for the first time in days. The soldier holding her was Reuben. She wanted to smile at him but she was too hurt, too weak, too frightened. She nodded slightly to reply.

Reuben covered his surprise quickly. His face became a stoic mask, "Lineman Petras, get these slaves to the pen for processing. I want you to personally see to it this girl's wounds are treated well. If we lose money because of your bad temper then the difference comes out of your month salary! Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir," Lineman Petras saluted before waving the slaves to move toward a large cage in the center of camp. "You heard Lineman Reuben. Now get moving."

The Magistrate chuckled slightly at Milos' bad joke. On a personal level, the Magistrate despised the young man's arrogance and over confidence. However, Milos' growing popularity with the more conservative, older villagers was something of a concern. As a politician, the Magistrate understood Milos could not be crossed at this point if one wanted to maintain a healthy career and to live a long life.

"Humor him, humor the boy," the Magistrate thought as he grinned back at Milos' guffaws. "He'll make a mistake and then they'll turn on him like a pack of wild dogs at a picnic."

"Go on, Abel, tell what happened next," Milos encouraged his older bother to speak. Abel was the brawn; the strong arm of Milos' group.

"Well, then, we'z got him see, and that there Bowman be beggin' us to stop. To not hurt him none more. Like he done nothin' wrong to no'on or such there is" Abel gave a toothy grin. "So's I axed him on the spot! Right then, right there."

The young men following Milos erupt in uncontrolled laughter and cheers. The Magistrate gave a half smile to the group. In his heart, though, he was sickened at the tale of unrestrained vigilante justice.

"Perhaps, if this occurs in the future, you could bring the accused back for a trial," the Magistrate weakly offered.

"He was dead, dead, dead. What's da use of a trial be?" Abel appeared to be confused.

"He means before we kill him, Abel. Right?" Milos eyed the Magistrate in a challenge.

"It is the rule of law and not my rules, boys," the Magistrate felt himself break out in a cold sweat under their gaze.

"Then maybe the rule of law needs to be looked at," Milos shot back. "My men found that sheep stealing Bowman out in the caves. We dealt with him. End of story."

"I understand your version of the story but nobody proved the claim against Bowman. Nobody even tried to prove it. All we had was one man's word against the other man's word. We need more proof than one man's word against another man's. It's not open and shut like with an accused woman," the Magistrate was shaking a little as he explained the finer points of their legal system.

"Da deep blue sea it ain't! My friend, Rosh, says Bowman stolin' then he did! My friend's words worth more than another man's word," The group behind Abel shouted their support his position.

Before the Magistrate could speak again, an arrow planted itself in the mud a hare's length from his toes. Skewered on the arrow was a stinking skunk's pelt.

"What in the gods' names is that?" Milos shrieked as the odor tweaked his nose.

A second arrow pierced the skin of Milos' calf. The man fell over, howling in pain. His men initially stepped closer to help him but backed off when they saw another skunk pelt wrapped around the arrow shaft sticking out of the wounded man's leg.

"Don't just stand there! Help me, you jackasses!" Milos cried like a boy, "Get me to my mother!"

Before anybody could move or answer, two more arrows struck on either side of the downed man. Both arrows carried foul skunk pelts. The stench was formidable.

"Help!" Milos shouted to his retreating comrades as stench bearing arrows began to reign down on the village square.

"Who cut you?" General Felix asked as he relaxed on his bedding dressed in only his short leather battle skirt.

"My maaaz tah," replied the terrified slave standing naked in the generals command tent.

"Why?"

"Said it would make me cravin' lessen. Not want girls as much. Keep me action down."

"Did it work?" The General sneered as he stood.

"Nopes. It did nothin' I can tell, Sir. I gots his daughter with a baby," the slave kept his tear filled eyes on the general's approaching feet.

"So, I guess your right, it didn't work." The general grabbed the slave by the throat and forced him on his knees, "You are half Elosian but you let a villager, a lesser man than us, cut your pride. He sliced you like a sick bull out at pasture. At least, tell me you tried to fight him off. You did fight him, right? Did you have to be held down by fifty men? By twenty men? How about ten men? NO! Didn't think so. I'll bet, your Master didn't even need to tie you to a post. Did he?"

"No, sir. He said hold it out and I did. Hurt like you don't know what 'cause the knife was hot. He told me it was a good thing for me. I'd never cause no problem again."

"Moron! If you've not the courage or brains to save your own dick then your life is already lost!" The general took his knife and gutted the slave. "Toss this carcass to the hogs."

Becca watched in total silence. Before being lead to the general's tent, all the slaves had been stripped and washed. They were paraded, naked and unfettered, once around the room before the general waved them up to his sleeping area individually. So far, two were slaughtered, three were separated for sale in Greece, and two were sent to the troop quarters for entertainment purposed.

"Last one, General," the soldier saluted smartly as Becca stepped closer to the soft pillows and blankets which made up the bedding.

"Oh yes, the village whore! Come closer and turn around that I might see your delights," the general smiled.

Becca walked within a foot length of the general's bedding before turning to show her abused body. She kept her eyes down and face blank as she suffered the review of her wares.

"Who whipped you?" the general's question seemed even enough; it lacked accusation.

"A soldier, Master. I did not move fast enough or far enough for the gate to close," Becca's throat felt raw and voice sounded scratchy.

"So, the marks are your own fault? The scars which will cost me a hefty some, are because you were slow?"

"Yes sir. My fault. I was slow so I'm to blame. Please, make my death as quick as the last slave's death."

"Ha, in a hurry to die? Your kind always confess in hopes of reaching the end of their struggles. But, I think I have need of your services still," the general's smug expression sent chills down Becca's spine. "Soldier, see to it that she's branded. I want her marked as my own. Have her collared and chain her to a spike grounded here in my tent. Give her enough room to reach my bedding and the overnight pot." General Felix smiled broadly, "That's all the room she'll need for some time."

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