Note on language: Daniel and Teal'c speak Latin, for the sake of argument. Sam and Jack don't. When someone is speaking to Sam or Jack and Daniel is not there, I use untranslated Latin (and poorly, I suspect). When we are in Daniel's POV, I translate what folks are saying most of the time, Ditto Teal'c. Understood Latin is denoted by italics.
A clatter and a muffled gasp drew Claudius' attention from the scroll in his hand. One got used to the palace slaves being about; they were ubiquitous. Most of the time, they were also quiet. This one, however, was new. He was also noisy. "D-do you mind? I'm t-t-trying to r-read." The scroll was a new history by Pollio, and one he had been trying to get to for some time. The slave murmured an apology and began picking up the scrolls he had knocked over. With a twitch of his head, Claudius dismissed him from his thoughts and returned to the scroll.
A few minutes later, a rustle of paper caught his attention. The slave was reading one of the scrolls, holding it very near his face. Intrigued, Claudius watched for a time as the young man devoured the manuscript. He studied the slave, almost as closely as the young man was studying the parchment. A tall man, well formed, with light brown hair that brushed the back of his neck. The loose tunica hid most of his skin, but what was displayed was pale and unblemished. A Celt, perhaps, or a German. But literate?
"Do you kn-n-ow wh-a-at you're r-reading?" The question was asked with some amusement and a great deal of curiosity.
The slave looked up absently, his blue eyes wide with the effort of seeing the small letters. "Um..yes. Yes I do. It's Quintillius Maximus' commentary on the Gallic invasion. I just don't know what it's doing here." His Latin was perfect, but strangely accented.
"Well, it's here because I was r-referring t-to it last night." Claudius heaved himself to unsteady feet and lurched over to take the scroll from the slave's hands, rolling it carefully. Plucking another scroll from the pile, he handed it to the man and said, "C-c-c-can you r-ead this?"
Hesitantly, and again holding the parchment very close to his face, the man scanned the Greek letters. "It's Epictetus, isn't it? 'Some things are within our power and some things are beyond our power. Those things within our power include opinions, goals, desires, and aversions, in other words, whatever affairs belong to us. Those things beyond our power include our bodies, property, reputation, and public office, that is, whatever does not properly belong to us. Those things within our power are naturally free...."
"Yes, yes, all right. You c-can stop. Who t-taught you to r-r-read Gr-reek? And wh-why do you hold it so c-c-c-close t-to your face?" He snatched the scroll back and began rolling it up.
The slave placed his finger at the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Actually, I know twenty-three languages. Twenty-four if you count Goa'uld. And I have to hold the scrolls close to my face or I can't read them. I lost my glasses when we were," he paused, his eyes on some distant place. "When I was taken." He grimaced, looking up at Claudius boldly, but not quite focusing. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" He crossed his arms over his torso, and Claudius thought he grew even paler in the dim light.
"What is your name?" He motioned the slave to sit, clearing off a stool.
With a tired sigh, the younger man sat. "Daniel. Doctor Daniel Jackson, to be exact. And you are?"
"I am T-t-Tiberius Claudius Drusus N-n-Nero Germanicus. And your m-master, D-d-Daniel." He said sternly. "Y-you c-c-can forget that f-fact with me from t-time to time; nn-never with any one else." Claudius had never really stood on formality with his slaves. So long as they did their jobs and stayed out from underfoot, he was content to take care of himself for the most part. This slave, however, was intriguing. "How many l-languages did you say?"
Daniel grimaced. "Twenty-three. Most of them dead." He pushed at the bridge of his nose again, a nervous gesture, and visibly tried to focus on Claudius. "You're that madman's uncle, aren't you?"
Alarmed, he shushed the younger man, limping quickly to the door to look for anyone passing who might have heard. "Watch what you s-say, boy. Th-that m-m-madman is the Emperor's favorite nephew. He'd have you f-f-flayed alive if his spies h-heard you. Dolt." Satisfied they were in no danger, he closed the door and sat down again. "You w-won't last long here if y-ou don't learn to m-mm-mind your tongue. And your manners."
The man laughed, a short and ugly sound. "I know. I'm very new to this whole house slave thing. Last week, I was a civilian advisor to a top-secret government project. Last week, I knew where all my friends were and that they were safe and how to get home." The slave was getting angry; strangely, the angrier his words became the softer he spoke. "Last week, I could choose my own destiny. Last week, I could see. So I apologize that I'm having a bit of trouble adjusting my attitude. It's been a very bad week."
Claudius blinked, dumbstruck by the slave's tirade. "You're v-very strange. And not, I think, quite in y-your right mind," he said quietly. "Where a-are you from?"
The man seemed to deflate. With a sigh he said, "Nowhere you've heard of. America. Colorado. I need to get back to the kitchens, if that's ok? Sam... I have a friend there who doesn't speak as much Latin as I do. I had just found her again when I was sent up here. I don't think she knows I'm in the palace." He rose, tucking the tray under his arm.
"Wait." There was something he had read, something tickling in the back of his mind. Something about strange travelers, and a circle of light. He began riffling through his scrolls, tossing the fragile parchments with abandon. "It's here somewhere."
The slave waited with ill-disguised impatience. "Please, I need to go."
"Oh, for heaven's sake. What does your friend look like?" Exasperated, Claudius poked his head out the door and called for a messenger.
"Blonde, like you, with short hair and a bruise on her cheek." Daniel stumbled over the words, wincing. "Her name's Samantha. Sam."
Claudius turned to the waiting messenger and gave him the description, telling him to fetch the slave from the kitchen and bring her to his rooms. "Now...help m-me look."
Together they dove into the scrolls, un-rolling them part way to check their contents before discarding them once again. "What are we looking for?" Daniel asked.
"You will know when we find it."
A few minutes later, both men were buried in loose parchment. A knock sounded at the door and a woman was pushed into the room. She aimed a stream of invective in a strange, guttural language at the messenger, who shrugged and gestured rudely.
"Sam!" Daniel picked his way across the rustling floor and enveloped the disheveled woman in a hug, holding tight with his long arms.
A grin lit her face as she returned the slave's embrace. The only word Claudius understood was Daniel's name, but they spoke for some time in that guttural language. She seemed very relieved to see Daniel, and kept touching his arm, his face, almost as if to reassure herself of his reality.
At long last, he turned her and with word and gesture, introduced Claudius. With very hesitant and heavily accented Latin, she said, "It is honor Daniel friend of. Thank you." The older man had to smile; she was trying so hard. She smiled back, her bruised, smudged face lighting up once again.
"Now that you have your f-friend, perhaps you would be so k-k-kind as to help me l-look for a scroll. I think I saw it over here, last." And in they dove again.
In the end, though, it was the woman who found what they sought. With a startled cry and another stream of garbled babble, she grabbed Daniel's sleeve and waved the scroll at him. He took it from her and carried it to the table, unrolling it carefully near the lamp and bending over to bring it into focus. Crow's feet formed as the young man squinted at the brightly illustrated text, his mouth moving silently as he read to himself.
A large round object surrounded by symbols and text in a language Claudius had never seen took up the center of the scroll. People were drawn moving into the circle, but not emerging the other side of it. "Can you read this?" He asked. No one had been able to translate that particular manuscript, to the best of his knowledge. Claudius had picked it up as a curio, a novelty, from a trader from Alexandria.
"Yes...I think." Daniel stood up and rubbed his red eyes fiercely. Samantha looked at him worriedly, her hand on his shoulder, and asked a question. He shook his head and bent to the manuscript again. She looked sadly at Claudius, then took a seat, waiting.
More lamps were called for, chasing all shadows from the room. Claudius also called for a tray to be brought, and wine. Both slaves were far too thin, though no one starved in the palace. On the whole, the palace slaves were very well treated, so long as they obeyed.
The woman nibbled on the fruits and cheese, but declined the wine. Daniel was oblivious, sunk deep in the parchment, his face mere inches from the letters. It was late in the evening before he looked up again, meeting Sam's worried eyes with a fierce and brilliant grin. He spoke hoarsely and her eyes filled in response.
"What did you say to her?"
"I told her we're going home. I know how. We just have to find Jack." The fierce blue eyes were trained on Claudius now. "Will you help us? We don't belong here and we make terrible slaves. All of us have something terribly important to do back home. Millions of lives, hell, maybe billions of lives depend on us and what we do. Please help us."
The little room rang with the intensity, with the truth of the slave's plea. Claudius hesitated a bare moment before making up his mind. "All right. I will." Daniel nodded at Samantha, translating softly. The moisture that had collected in her pale eyes overflowed in two shining tears as she broke into a huge grin. She launched herself at Claudius and embraced him. He could feel her tremors as she strove for control, and he hugged her in response, stroking her back and murmuring broken words of comfort she would not understand.
It would take some work to track down one solitary slave in Rome, and more work to free him, but Claudius was certain of a good story at the least when it was all over. He rolled up the precious scroll and told the two to bed down in his rooms. They would depart tomorrow, Gods willing, and begin their journey home.
The oil lamps were burning low, and the musty smell of burnt olives was heavy in the still air. The shutters were open, allowing an occasional breeze to drift through the warm room. The scent of jasmine and orange blossoms from the garden below trickled into Sam's awareness. The heady scent blotted out the sense memory of the past few days. The smell of fear and sweat in the pens, the rotten garlic riding on the breath of their overseer. The odor of the kitchens; rotting meat and baking bread and too many spices forming a nauseating miasma. Sam took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose with a deep and simple pleasure.
Guiltily, she reigned in her enjoyment of the moment. The Colonel was still out there and she doubted he was half as comfortable as she was at the moment. His stubbornness would be a liability in this situation, as would his sense of duty. She knew the Colonel would never stop trying to reunite the team and get them home. That was his job and Colonel Jack O'Neill took his job very seriously.
He would, she realized, probably get himself killed trying to do that job. There was no Underground Railroad here, no abolitionist movement, nowhere to run. There were even laws, she distantly remembered from a world civ class eons ago, that promised death to anyone who was caught aiding a fugitive slave. The odds of escape were very bad, which was how Roman society maintained its hold upon the people it subjugated. "Nowhere to run; nowhere to hide," she muttered.
Sam drew up her legs and leaned against the cool stone wall, looking out on the moonlit garden below. She had learned quickly to grab these moments of peace where she could, and the imperial gardens were beautiful by moonlight. "I'd trade in a heartbeat for gun metal gray corridors and a cup of stale coffee from the commissary. And to have Teal'c back." She was occasionally ashamed of herself, a soldier so easily moved to tears, but she missed the big Jaffa.
With a soft groan, the door to the small chamber opened on its stiff hinges. Sam scrambled to her feet, fighting clear of the linen sheet, and looked around for something to use as a weapon. She grabbed up a heavy ceramic pitcher and held it ready.
"Sedare. E-ejus a me." She recognized the stammer before the man in the dim light. Claudius looked into the room from the doorway, his expression unsure and a bit uncomfortable.
Sam put down the pitcher and sat on the edge of the pallet-bed. "Um, hi. Sorry."
By his unsure smile he understood her meaning, if not her words. "E-ego audire tu. Daniel d-dormitum."
"I understood Daniel. Daniel...?"
The man cocked his head to the side, closed his eyes, and snored softly. "Oh, asleep. Daniel's asleep, finally. Well, good. He looked terrible." She rubbed her own eyes tiredly, wincing as her hand passed over the darkening bruise on her cheek. Claudius just shrugged, clearly not understanding her words. "Never mind. Thanks. Gratias." She leaned against the wall, her warm skin soaking in the coolness from the stones.
"Si placet, Sam. D-dormitum es 'asleep'? I-ita?" Claudius took a chair and sat, leaning forward. His head twitched from time to time, she noticed, but it did not seem to distract him too much.
"Yes, I suppose," she nodded. "But Daniel is the linguist. He can..."
"Si p-p-placet." He waved her to silence and picked up the pitcher she had been planning to use as a weapon. "Urceus."
"Urceus? Oh, the pitcher! Pitcher." Claudius spoke the word back, stammering just a bit on the first letter. Sam had to smile. She looked about and then placed her hand on the lamp and named it. "Lamp."
"L-lamp. Lucerna. Bene! L-lamp."
By dawn, they had named everything in the room in Latin and English and Claudius' stammer had almost disappeared. It would take more than one evening for Sam to have a working knowledge of the language, but she had a better grasp now than before. Now she just wanted Daniel to wake up so they could start looking for the Colonel.
Dawn broke over the vineyard with the voice of two hundred groaning men and the clank of chains. The pickers were up first, being prodded through their morning meal and then out to the sloping, sun-battered vines, heavy with ripe grapes. The line of workers trailed out of the huge dormitory tent, grumbling into the already warm day. Guards walked down the row of pallets, prodding the rest of the slaves to rise.
Jack rolled to his feet from the thin pallet he had been pushed onto the night before. On arrival at the work camp, his tunica had been taken, leaving him with just a loincloth standing between him and the open air. The near nudity did not really bother him; after being stripped for auction he doubted he was capable of feeling embarrassed anymore. Watching his tent mates covertly, he quickly learned the most efficient way to wrap the long bit of cloth, tying it off securely at his waist before joining the line for chow.
"Damn, mornings are early here," he said, half-aloud. The man behind him clouted his shoulder with a snarled, "Tace!"
"Hey! No need to get physical, pal." He rubbed his shoulder, wincing. The man curled his lip in a sneer and pushed O'Neill forward as the line began to move. "Thanks. I would have realized the light was green in a moment."
A guard, keeper, handler, whatever, looked over at Jack with a bored expression. "Tace, canis!" He tapped Jack's leg with a long, thin stick, not really enough to hurt but enough to let him know it could. Jack dropped his eyes to the ground and shuffled ahead with the pack. From the corner of his eye, though, he surveyed the encampment.
Not many guards that he could see. The only chains were on the pickers in the field. His eyes darted over the compound. It looked like a temporary camp set up for the slaves' use during harvest season. There was one permanent building, but he had not seen inside it as yet. The rest of the operation was run out of tents and in the open air.
A wooden bowl was thrust into his hands, a thin and unappetizing gruel poured into it by a bored looking woman. Thanking her, he carried his breakfast to sit with the group of men under the only tree in the camp, nudging his way into the shade with a snarl. He scooped up the gruel with his hand, remembering the slop from Hadate with a grimace, and resumed his surveillance.
No weapons, apart from sticks and a few knives. The guards were outnumbered by their charges. Jack smiled, then schooled his face into a mask of acceptance. Tonight, before the chains went on at bedtime, he'd make a break for it. Then he'd find Carter and Daniel and a way home. He wouldn't let himself think about Teal'c, or about the possibility of failure.
"Progredi, canis!" A whistling sound, then a sharp pain across his upper back brought O'Neill out of his contemplation and to his feet, glaring at the sun-browned face of one of the overseers. The mass of men at his back edged away from him, averting their eyes.
"What the hell?!" The words had not left his mouth before he realized his mistake. The guard was bored. He was just looking for some entertainment. Well, Jack was damned if he was going to be the source of that entertainment. He dropped his gaze to the ground.
The man smiled at Jack; his mouth was full of broken teeth and the smile never reached his eyes. "Vexatoris tu, Milesitis Senex?" He stepped up to Jack, close enough for the smell of his rotting mouth to turn O'Neill's stomach. "Eh?" The man knocked the bowl from Jack's hand, spilling the thin gruel on the ground.
Keeping his eyes down, his face still, Jack shook his head. He had no idea what the man was saying, but he was clearly trying to get Jack to start something. Pitching his tone to respectful subservience, Jack said, "Sorry, turdbreath. Fuck you very much."
"Heh. Milesitis Senex. Bene!" The guard cuffed Jack's head with a hard fist and walked away laughing.
"Whatever." Jack's stomach rumbled, complaining, and he picked up his bowl to scoop whatever was left of the unappetizing stuff into his mouth.
After breakfast, or what passed for breakfast, the guards moved through the mass of slaves, separating them into groups for the day's work. Jack was with the smallest group, and he found himself being herded to the only building. The stucco structure was actually just two big rooms. In the first was a raised platform, scored across with thin troughs and surrounded by a stone moat. Through the open door, Jack saw a large press in the second room.
It was in the first room, however, that Jack was stopped. With shouts and shoving, he was pushed to stand on the platform. A loose iron collar was affixed around his neck. It was attached to a chain that stretched up and looped over the rafters of the dim building. Two other men were similarly secured. They looked tired and worn, their skin stretched thin over whipcord muscle, their legs and torsos covered with bruises and welts. One of the men had a brand on his cheek. The letters "FUG" stood out in red and angry relief against his sun darkened skin.
The door opened again, and a line of men carrying baskets walked in, dumping their contents on the platform. Grapes.
"Iter facere, Milesitis Senex!" A familiar voice said. Jack looked over his shoulder at the grinning face of his snag-toothed guard.
"Great. Wonderful." The other two men had begun marching over the grapes, mashing them into a juicy pulp. "Marching. Thought I was done with that." And he took a squishy step into the purple mass. "Ewwwww.... I hate steppin' in squishy stuff."
"Tace! Iter facere!"
He heard the whistle as the cane sped through the air seconds before it landed across his lower back. Grimacing, he trod forward and began marching over the grapes.
"Celeris, Milesitis Senex." The cane licked fire over his calves as he marched in place, the grape smell rising around him. Grape juice had always been one of his favorites as a kid. No more.
Bearers brought in more grapes, scraping the stems and seeds into baskets for further pressing. An hour passed, with the occasional shout of "Celeris!" which Jack had translated to mean that he was to march faster. The cane flicking like a brand over his burning calves helped in the translation. Another hour and his thighs were aching and sore. The day was warming up; the stucco building held the cool for a while, but now the room was turning uncomfortably warm. He looked up from time to time to look through the high window, marking the sun's passage. Another hour.
"Desistere!"
The other two chained men stopped immediately, sweat glistening on their torsos as they took in deep breaths. Jack stopped a moment later, noting for the first time just how thirsty he was. His legs felt like lead weights, and his feet were sore from treading on grape seeds and stems all morning.
The other men were quickly unchained and were pushed, stumbling, out of the room. Two new workers were brought in and the command came again, "Iter facere!"
"Hey! A break would be nice!" Jack pulled angrily at the chain at his neck. "Some water? Agua? H20?" He held an imaginary glass to his mouth and took a drink. "Come on!"
The guard looked puzzled, and then a light dawned. "Aqua? Egere aqua?" He grinned, showing off his state of the art dental work again, and took down the sloshing water skin he had been sipping from for most of the morning from its hook on the wall.
"Yes, aqua. I'd really like some aqua."
Uncorking the skin, the man took a long drink. Then he held the skin out to Jack, but it was just out of reach. Straining against the chain at his neck, O'Neill stretched, but his fingers fell far short. The guard laughed and poured the skin out on the floor, the patter of liquid on the stones making Jack even thirstier. "Asshole."
"Iter facere, Milesitis Senex. Milesitis grandis. Bellator vallidisium!" The other two slaves were laughing now. Jack rolled his eyes and started treading over the pile of grapes once again.
"Like I know what the hell you're calling me, jerk-off," he muttered. Damn, he was thirsty.
Someone was dragging him over rocks. The movement was sporadic, as if the person was having a difficult time, and the jerks were marked by low grunting noises. Teal'c looked around. He was on a sheet of some kind, moving slowly through a stand of trees. The sun was low in the sky, in the East, so it was morning. He was very weak; his symbiote moved sluggishly within, healing itself. There was pain in his side and he could smell blood.
With an effort, he rolled free of his conveyance. The sudden lack of weight caused quick forward motion on the part of the person who had been dragging him, and Teal'c heard him cry out and fall to the ground.
Climbing painfully to his feet, Teal'c walked to where an old man lay, cowering away from him. "Do not hurt me, demon. I am an old man. Please."
The man spoke in a language Teal'c had heard the followers of Chronos use, during Teal'c's service as First Prime of Apophis. He answered back in that same language. "I will not hurt you. I am not a demon. Where are my friends?" He stretched a hand down to help the man up. There was something familiar about the bearded face, the wine stained clothes. Grasping the old man's hand, he pulled him to his feet, looking intently in the man's face. "Do I not know you?"
"Oh, no, no. I would remember. Thank you for not...for helping me up. Good day!" And the man started to totter quickly back the way he had come.
"Stop!" Teal'c had found over time that his voice could influence the actions of others, when pitched forcefully. The man stopped, looking fearfully back over his shoulder.
"Ah, yes? Can I help you?"
"Indeed. You can tell me about this place. Perhaps this will help me find my friends." A sharp pain in Teal'c's side brought a grimace to his face. He placed his hand over the pain and pressed down. Warmth filled his palm; looking down, he could see where the blood had run freely from the wound there.
"You are in pain?" The old man looked honestly concerned, but was backing away down the trail as he spoke.
"I have suffered worse wounds. I will recover. Stop moving and tell me of this place. What is your name?"
Nervously, the old man looked at his hands. "Selvanus. Do you remember nothing of how you came to be injured?"
Memories were tickling the back of Teal'c's mind; a device of Ma'chello's, a bright light, then, "Soldiers. No, not soldiers. They wore no uniforms or armor. But they attacked us at a house. An old man had given shelter." He paused, looking hard at the trembling figure. "He fed us and we then slept until the others arrived. There was a battle and I took my wound."
"You were dead, we thought," the man supplied. "You lost so much blood and lay so still."
"You were the cause, old man. Your food put us to sleep until the others could arrive." Angry now, Teal'c advanced on the man and picked him up by the shoulders of his tunica. He shook him, ignoring the flare of pain at his side or the hiss of his symbiote inside his gut. "Where are my friends?"
"I...I d-do not know! Please..." the man was rattled and terrified, but Teal'c could not really find it in his heart to care about that right now.
"You know where they might be taken. You will tell me."
"Rome...to Rome! To be sold! Do not kill me, demon, I did not know!"
Teal'c dropped the quivering man and pressed his hand to his side. The man crumpled into a ball in the dirt, hiding his face. There was no fresh blood when Teal'c took his hand away. "You will assist me in regaining my friends. You will give me clothes and the money you took for their capture. Then I will leave and you will never see me again. Understood?"
The man nodded frantically and leapt to his feet, motioning Teal'c to follow along the dirt road.
An hour or so later, dressed in a long tunica and sandals and armed with a sharp knife (the best weapon the old man had to offer), Teal'c set out on the road to Rome. A fat purse was tucked inside the folds of his cloak and several apples and a good hard cheese hung in a cloth bundle from his shoulder.
He knew he would need to stop soon and attempt kel-no-reem, to heal the wound in his side, but Teal'c wanted to make a few miles before sundown. Rome was at least two days away on foot, according to Selvanus, and he was already several days behind O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, and Major Carter.
The sun slanting in through the shuttered windows woke Daniel at last. Muttered voices from the next room drew him, pulling on his tunica as he went, to investigate.
"Now, now. Don't be coy with me. Let's just see what dear Uncle Clau-Clau is hiding."
"Stop! Don't do that! I don't understand you." Sam sounded a bit panicked, and Daniel pushed the door to her chamber open. A tall, pale man was looming over her bed, his golden hair highlighted by a circlet of bronze laurel leaves. The man was plucking at the sleeve of her shift, and tugging at the sheet. Sam looked mad enough to kill him with her glare alone, but had not raised a hand to defend herself yet. Wise, considering the situation, but things were escalating, from what little he could see.
"Leave her alone!" Crossing the tiny room in two strides, he took the man by the shoulder and pulled him away from Sam's bed. "You okay?" he asked, looking over her rumpled form with an anxious squint.
"I'm fine, but I'm fairly sure you shouldn't have done that, Daniel." Sam scrambled out of bed and ran fingers through her tousled hair. "Who is this guy, anyway?"
A good question, and Daniel had the feeling that he was about to have the answer land on him with both feet.
"How dare you lay hands on me, dog?! I'll have you boiled alive for this outrage!" The wild-eyed man advanced on them, his fists clenched, his face red with rage. "Well?! I asked you a question, dog!"
"I am sorry, Master. I thought it was rhetorical." Damn, that 'master' hurt to say. Daniel knew he had to talk fast, or the man would make good his threat. Rome was not kind to rebellious slaves, not after three uprisings that had nearly taken down the state, if memory served. "Master Claudius told us to wait here for him. I am Daniel of...Letopolis. This is Samantha. She's my sister." He hoped the family tie would be enough to excuse his actions. Bowing his head, he noted Sam copying his actions and he blessed her mentally.
"Oh." As quickly as the storm had struck, it was over. "Your sister. I see. Well, tell Uncle Claudius his nephew, Caligula, was here to see him, will you, and, for goodness' sake, get a bath, the pair of you." His tone was conversational now, pleasant and cheerful. "Now, that's an order. You're both very grubby. Get to the bathing chambers and have a good soak before Uncle Claudius comes back. I'll tell him where you are if he asks." Placing a hand on Daniel's head, then Sam's, he wafted from the room.
"What the hell was that?" Sam asked, a bit breathless.
Daniel ran fingers through his hair, rubbing his scalp furiously to get rid of the feel of the man's cold hand on head. "That was Claudius' crazy nephew, Caligula. I'm so glad we're leaving soon. You're my sister, by the way, if anyone asks. From Letopolis."
"Okay." Sam looked a little shaken still, but unwilling to let the potential forced intimacy of the past few minutes shake her up. "What was he saying about baths?"
"You understood that?" Daniel was impressed. He moved over to Sam's bed and twitched the linen sheets back into place, to have something to do. "I didn't think you knew much Latin, Major-Doctor." The use of her titles, he hoped, would help ground her, keep her within their shared reality of SG-1. She needed to remember, to be reminded that she was Major Samantha Carter of the US Air Force. Of them all, she had the most to lose, in the way of control of self. Free women were not treated well in ancient Rome, much less female slaves.
"I don't, or rather I didn't. Claudius was teaching me last night. Baths?" She nudged him in the ribs, a tiny smile playing around her eyes. Good.
"Follow me, Major-Doctor. I know the way."
The baths had been deserted in the late morning, and they were able to bathe in privacy and return to Claudius' rooms undetected. "Much better." Sam sighed and stretched out on the bed, letting the warm sun dry her hair. "Think our host will be back soon?"
"Hope so. It's only a matter of time before someone comes looking for us. Sam, are you okay?" He sat on the bed next to her, not looking at her, but near enough to feel every breath.
This was the first time since they had recovered consciousness from the battle in the farmhouse that Daniel had a chance to talk to anyone. He had seen through the crowds when Jack had been dragged to the block, struggling all the way, stripped down, and sold.
Then it had been his turn. He did not want to remember that just now.
He'd been led away before Sam's turn had come with the women's lot. It had been such a relief to see her, alive and relatively unharmed, cutting up turnips in the kitchen.
"I'm okay, Daniel. Just got my dignity a little bruised." She brushed her hand over the livid bruise on her cheek, and smiled shakily. "I," she paused, uncertain, "I saw you and the colonel. I'm so sorry, Daniel." She reached out a hand and placed it, warm, on his back. "I'd have given anything to stop what happened to you. To you both."
The crowd stretched before him, a multicolored, jeering blur. Cold iron clamped around his wrists, holding his arms behind him, and tethered to a ring on the ground. Efficient, practiced hands stripped him of the plain tunica and loincloth he had been given to wear and washed him down with cold water and harsh soap. Hard hands, tugging him this way and that, examining him, lifting his lip to see his teeth. What skills? And a placard, the word 'scriba' written in chalk, hung around his neck. Pushed to the platform, more hard hands, dead eyes looking him over. Bidding. Laughter at his blushes.
He shuddered. "Really wanted my sidearm right then. Or one of Jack's famous last-minute rescues." He quirked a tiny smile. "For all of us."
"Yeah, him riding in out of the sunset, Teal'c at his side." She cut herself off.
Daniel turned and took her hand. "He might be all right, Sam. We don't know he's dead. Junior...."
"Yeah. I know." Daniel knew the image her mind's eye was conjuring, because his was doing the same: Teal'c, lying sprawled in a pool of dark blood. The dark wound was too near Junior's pouch, and the pool kept spreading. "We need to get out of here, Daniel."
She stood up abruptly and began to pace angrily. "I can't believe this, anyway. Where the hell are we, Rome? Ancient Rome? How the hell did we get here, Daniel? I mean, one minute we're coming through the Stargate on PX2-373, then we're in the woods, with no gear, in the middle of nowhere. I mean," she paused in her pacing, her short hair standing up in spikes from her fingers running through it. With a glare at the door, she flung herself into a chair, sprawled with her elbows on her knees. "How are we getting home, Daniel?" Her blue eyes were wide and swimming with emotion.
Daniel stood and moved behind her, rubbing her shoulders with strong fingers. The hard muscles of her shoulders tensed, then relaxed as he kneaded them. "We're not in Ancient Rome, Sam. We're not even on Earth. I finished translating the scroll while you were taking your turn in the bath." She twisted under his hands and looked up at him. "Have you ever been to Colonial Williamsburg, Sam?"
Comprehension lit her eyes. "Of course! But, where are the, I don't know, the patrons."
"I have no idea. Maybe we're the patrons. The slaves, the people on the street. An interactive historical drama of some kind." Daniel picked up the scroll and held it close to his eyes, bringing the strange script into focus. "This says, in essence, 'Welcome to Rome, we hope you enjoy your stay.'"
"You're kidding."
Daniel shook his head. "I'm not. It also describes where the exit is. We need to get to a place called Ponza. I'm sure Claudius has a map or something around here." He rubbed his tired eyes and rolled up the scroll again. "I really wish I had my glasses," he said.
"How bad are your eyes, really, Daniel?" Sam asked in concern. "I've seen you function without corrective lenses before and you've never had this kind of trouble. I always thought they were just, you know, for reading."
Daniel shook his head. "You've seen me in contacts, Sam, never without some kind of visual correction. I'm pretty myopic. The first day without glasses wasn't too bad, but the more tired my eyes get the blurrier everything is. I can still read, though, if I hold things close enough." He sat on the bed again and lay back, shutting his eyes. "This is the longest I've been without them since I was a kid. It's...weird. Everything is out of focus, and the brighter the light the worse it gets. My head is killing me." Okay, he thought, enough with the pity party. "I'm going to take a nap until Claudius gets back. Wake me if anyone comes in, Sam. Especially if Caligula comes back. You shouldn't be alone here."
"I can take care of myself, Daniel. I'm a soldier." Her voice was miffed.
He opened one eye and looked over at her. Arms crossed, chin up, and he'd bet her expression was an imitation of Jack at his most mulish. "And a damn good one. But you don't have to fight every battle alone. I can help, at least with the translating. All right?"
She sat for a moment, then uncrossed her arms and leaned on the table. "All right, Daniel. I'll wake you. Get some sleep, now." Her voice sounded sad, defeated.
He sat up again. "You okay?"
She nodded. "I'm just worried about the Colonel. Who's translating for him? You know how he is. He's going to get himself in so much trouble. I wish Claudius would get back."
The long afternoon was wearily dragging on toward evening. O'Neill felt as if lead weights had been tied to his feet and he'd been forced to do an endurance march with a full field pack. The cane fell with more frequency as he slowed his steps, tracing fire across his calves and lower back and sending his temper into orbit. Barely, just barely, he stopped himself from grabbing the instrument and shoving it somewhere inappropriate, but immensely satisfying. Capitalizing on his captor's lack of English fluency, he told them so. Repeatedly. With gestures.
Of course, that only made matters worse. The shift had changed twice more; Jack remained chained to the ceiling. He'd been given water at noon, but nothing to eat. The gap-toothed bastard with the cane had thought it the height of comedy to pretend to release the collar, then walk out of the building altogether. Jack had heard the rest of the workers at their noon meal, and started working on the collar himself.
Unfortunately, the lock, while primitive, was strong and well made. He had managed to climb half way up the chain to examine where it was fastened in the ceiling before the worker's break was over and he was discovered.
"Non militaris. Marmoset nos! Concidere, marmoset." The guard made coaxing noises and gestures, as if calling a cat out of a tree. Deciding to climb down before they took more drastic measures than coaxing, Jack came down again. The guard petted his grizzled hair, smiling and nodding. "Bene marmoset." Jack snatched his head away and moved as far from the man as the chain would allow, glaring. Then more grapes were brought in and the march began again.
The world became the room. The steady raising and lowering of his legs in the mass of purple grapes, the smell of ripe and over ripe fruit, the buzz of flies and bees hovering over the discarded pulp, the occasional shout and blow to break the monotony. Fatigue was a constant now, and Jack watched the shadows as the sun moved, counting the minutes until night and rest.
The air turned golden, then red as dusk fell. The shadows grew darker, until the light was really too dim to see much at all. Finally, the guard called out, "Desistere!" The call was echoed through the work camp and the weary slaves came to an end of their labors for the day. Jack slumped at the end of his chain, waiting to be released. During the long day he had worked out his escape plan and, despite his fatigue, was ready to get the hell out of this place and try to find Daniel and Sam.
His two co-workers were freed and pushed, stumbling with weariness, out of the room. Buckets of water were thrown over the grape pressing stone he stood on, sluicing off seeds, stems and bits of peel, flowing over his sore feet in a warm wave. Then, the last worker was gone, closing the door after him.
"Hey! Did you forget something?" Jack yelled, tugging at his chain angrily. "For crying out loud! My feet are about to fall off, here! Hey!" There was no response, no answering call. "Great," he muttered. "I have got to learn not to antagonize the bad guys."
The chain was too short to allow him to sit, much less lay down. After a day of almost constant motion, his legs felt like the bones had been replaced by undercooked fettucini. His feet were raw and sore; shifting his weight from one to the other helped a little, but not much. His bad knee felt swollen and tight and the spots where the cane had struck were hot and painful.
"Okay, so, no escape tonight," he said softly. "Tomorrow. If I can still move by then."
The only window was high up on the wall. Jack craned his neck against the rubbing of the collar to see if the moon was up yet. That was the only way he could think to mark time. A silvery glow heralded the moonrise and O'Neill kept his eyes glued to the silver sphere as it crept slowly over the windowsill.
An old memory niggled at his mind. The moon in another window, marking time minute to minute as the night crept slowly by and the desert cold crept slowly in. He had spent hours looking at the moon, having nothing else at which to look. Mapping its contours had become a challenge and a discipline. He had dreaded the few days a month when the moon was new.
This moon was full and bright. Old habits kicked in and he ceased to feel the pain in his legs and his back as his mind went to the moon. He looked for old friends, landmarks he had memorized as a child, but found none of them. "What the hell? Where's Mara Imbrium? Where's the Lunar Appennines?" Kicking himself to alertness with a rattle and a clink, he straightened and really looked at the moon. "Where's anything?! That's not our moon." The constellations, what he could see of them, were different as well. "Where the hell am I then?"
Behind him, startling him out of his contemplation, the door creaked open. He turned quickly and stumbled on one of the ruts in the stone. But for the chain, he would have fallen. As it was, he choked and coughed as he regained his unsteady footing. An oil lamp cast guttering shadows over the room, hiding the identity of its bearer rather than illuminating. Jack squinted against the soft light and identified "his" guard. "What the hell do you want, asshole?"
The man grinned and hopped up on the stone, setting down his lamp. He walked over to Jack quickly, the reek of wine and garlic making the older man gag. He tried to back away but the chain at his neck confounded him again, holding him within arms reach of the guard. "Shhhh. Quiete, miles militis." Grimy hands reached out to him and the lamp lit a leer in the younger man's eyes.
"Hey, you're not my type. Back off!" He was pretty sure that resisting would mean something more than a few taps with that damn cane. Hoping that playing hard to get would be enough, he crossed his arms and bared his teeth. "I'm not interested, Colgate-boy." The man stepped closer, reaching out to touch Jack's hair again and pressing his body tightly against him, laughing drunkenly. He groped for Jack's loincloth, tugging the end free and attempting to pull it off all together. "Goddamn it, let me alone!" Then a harder tug and he was naked in the dark.
Hands, swift despite being slowed by drink, tied his wrists securely behind his back before he could recover his wits. "Mei militis, speciosus." Jack gritted his teeth and tugged at the cloth, trying to free himself as the guard's clammy hands roamed everywhere. Callused fingers stroked his scrotum and he yelped, more than a little panicked at the way things were progressing
"Okay. Enough!" Drawing back, Jack wrenched himself away and kicked out at the man. A short shriek cut off abruptly, and Jack was alone on the platform. "I said I'm not that kind of boy," he said smugly. He looked over the side of the platform and saw in the dim light the sprawled body to the gap-toothed guard. He wasn't moving and his head lay at a very unhealthy angle. "Well, hell. That's gonna make me Mr. Popular."
He tried calling for help, but no one came. He tried to loosen the restraint on his wrists, but it was tied very well. As the night wore on, he even tried prayer, but no one was listening.
Sam woke from a dreamless sleep to the sound of the chamber door opening. Claudius limped into the room quickly and shut the door before she could stand or speak. He looked happy and excited, words tumbling and tripping from his mouth in a hiccupping fountain.
She grinned and put a hand on his arm. "Slow down. I don't understand."
Shaking his head with a twitch and a grimace, Claudius pointed to himself. "I f-find Jack."
"You found the Colonel?" Sam stammered in relief. She surged up out of the hard chair and caught Claudius in an enthusiastic hug. "Where is he? How is he? Is he okay? When do we leave?"
Claudius looked from her to Daniel's sleeping form and pointed at him. "Wake. Talk. Fast talk S-S-Sam you."
"Oh, right, sorry." She reached out and shook Daniel awake. "Claudius is back. He says he found the Colonel."
"Yes!" He rolled to his feet and grasped Claudius by the arms, questioning him in rapid Latin. Claudius answered and sat at the table, reaching for a bit of fruit from last night's tray. "He says Jack was taken to work in a vineyard a little to the south of here by a man named Callas. We're leaving tonight. The cart is being readied now."
"About time. Let's go."
Holding up a stilling hand, Claudius spoke again. His stammer was a bit worse but Sam caught the words "slave" "head" and "quiet." The older man looked very uncomfortable, but determined.
"You're right." Daniel nodded. "He's right, Sam. Once we leave these rooms, we have to behave like, well, like slaves again. Eyes down, subservient, all that BS, at least until we get out of the city. Otherwise we'll draw attention to ourselves and might make trouble for Claudius after we're gone."
Nodding, Sam said, "I understand. I hate it, but I understand. But if that asshole comes near me again, I'm going to break his arm."
"Asshole?" Claudius was confused.
Daniel translated the meaning, if not the content. Claudius looked over at Sam with concern. "You o-okay, Sam?" he asked. "Caligula bad..." he looked up at Daniel and asked, "malevolens?"
"Bad man. Jerk. Asshole."
Claudius smiled ruefully. "Bene. Caligula is jerk." He patted Sam's arm comfortingly and finished his fruit.
A messenger came to the door. "Cart's ready," Daniel murmured. "Time to go. Oh, nearly forgot. Map." He whispered a quiet consultation in the Roman's ear, who scrambled amidst his scrolls and selected two, tucking them into the bag he had packed earlier.
They followed Claudius out of the room that had been their haven. The stone halls of the inner chambers gave way to the lavishly decorated outer halls and rooms. They met only palace staff, scurrying to finish for the day. Laughter and the appetizing smells let them know that the evening meal was being served. No one but the slaves walked the halls, and no one stopped to question them.
The cart awaited them in the stable yard. Daniel assisted Claudius into the back of it, settling him onto comfortable cushions like a loyal servant. Sam climbed on after as Daniel clambered into the driver's seat and took the reigns. Sotto voce, she asked, "You know how to drive one of these things, Daniel?"
"In principle." He snapped the traces along the back of the black mare and clicked his tongue. Sam sat at the back of the cart, her feet dangling inches from the cobbled roadway, and held on tightly as the cart jostled and lurched over the uneven stones. Palatine Hill surrounded them, the buildings of the imperial family a cluster of marble and gilt growing rosy in the setting sunlight.
Claudius spoke from time to time, guiding Daniel through the winding streets. She drew her feet into the cart and scooted back, leaning on the wooden side. A pillow landed in her lap and she looked up into Claudius' smiling face. "Thanks."
"You're w-welcome."
She made herself more comfortable and watched as the city came into view at last. "We're on the Via Appia, now, if this is a faithful reconstruction of the city. That big wall to your right is the outside of the Circus Maximus," Daniel said. "This road will take us almost straight south. All the way to Terracina."
Fascinated despite herself, Sam drank in the sights as they passed slowly along the endless busy streets. "This is an amazing piece of work, if it's all a reconstruction. It even smells the way an ancient city should smell. Have you asked Claudius about that, by the way?"
"You mean if he knows about what's really happening here? No. I'm not sure I want to know the answer."
Claudius looked from one to the other, catching his name. He questioned Daniel, who replied shortly and not very satisfyingly by the look on Claudius' face. He glared at the back of Daniel's head and crossed his arms.
Sam put a placating hand on Claudius' knee. He looked down at her in surprise, then smiled at her kindly and patted her hand. "What did you say, Daniel?"
"Later, Sam. I told him the same thing. We'll talk once we get out of the city, okay?" Daniel spoke to Claudius again, who relaxed a bit and nodded. "We're approaching the outer gate now. Try to look, well, slavey."
The guards at the gate nodded them through, recognizing the imperial markings on the cart, and then they were outside the wall and in the suburbs. A few more minutes' travel had them outside the city altogether, although houses lined the way for many more miles.
Their shadows grew longer to the side of the road. The creak of the harness and the chirruping of night insects were the loudest sounds in the growing dark. For a few miles outside the city, the way had been lit by baskets of fire. They had passed a runner a mile back, moving from one basket to the other and adding wood. Now, though, the only thing lighting the way was the rising moon. Luckily, it was full and bright and their way was easy and straight.
"We should be there by tomorrow, midmorning, according to Claudius. Why don't you get some sleep," Daniel suggested. "I'll wake you in a few hours and you can drive."
The back of the cart was cramped, but well padded with cushions and bags. She curled up on a small pile of colorfully embroidered pillows and looked up at the strange stars. A cool breeze made her shiver. Claudius noticed and pulled a warm blanket from one of the bags, covering her with it. He eased off of the padded bench to recline next to her, looking up at the sky.
Pointing to a cluster of stars, he said, "Lepus." He held up two fingers and hopped them up and down.
"Rabbit? I can see that." A cluster of stars low on the horizon drew her attention. "What are those, those seven stars together there."
Claudius looked up, then smiled and nodded, "Nos Septum F-frater."
"The seven brothers. We have a constellation called the Seven Sisters back home, but they don't look like that." The older man smiled and shook his head, not understanding. Daniel translated softly. Claudius craned his neck and asked Daniel a question. They spoke back and forth for a moment or two, and then Claudius relaxed back onto the cushions.
"What was that about?"
"He wanted to know what we were talking about earlier, about this world. I explained that we were from another planet and that part of our history resembled this place. He doesn't appear to know anything about it, though. I think he thinks he really is who he is, or thinks he is. And I fully realize that sentence made very little sense."
Sam said dryly, "Oddly enough, I understood what you just said. Do you think he's a clone or something? Or something like those 'bots of Harlaan's?" She still had the occasional nightmare of her other self, trapped on Harlaan's doomed world after being made 'better.'
Daniel shrugged. "We've seen no evidence of that level of technology. The cloning thing is possible, I guess. I really don't care that much as long as we get out of here soon."
The miles passed quietly for a time. Claudius and Sam started exchanging words again, naming the cart, the horse, the road and anything else they could see. It was like a bilingual game of I, Spy.
Daniel smiled to himself, remembering playing a similar game with his mother, learning English and Arabic simultaneously. He had actually been more fluent in the second language than the first, being immersed in it practically from infancy, and had struggled to learn the English his mother had insisted he use in camp. The game had developed from that. From her love of learning had come his love of language and linguistics, a passion that few of his foster parents had ever understood.
Now, listening to the Latin and English drifting up from the back of the wagon, Daniel remembered hot Egyptian days and a dark-haired woman pointing to a pile of fruit on a rug in the marketplace. "Figs, Mama," he murmured. The wagon creaked on into the night, accompanied by the gold glint of fireflies dancing among the trees along side the road.
Night fell. The pain was becoming bearable at last. A few hours of quiet meditation had set the healing on its path. Soon, he would stop for the night and spend it in kel-no-reem. The morning would see him fully restored and ready to do battle once again.
The moon rose high overhead, lighting his path and turning the rolling hills silver and gray. A cool breeze lifted the hem of his cloak, setting the closely woven cloth flapping.
A fellow traveler had told him of an inn along this road, and now he could see the flicker of torches in the distant dark.
Rome was another day away, unless he could find faster conveyance. He had seen, much earlier in the day, a man being carried on the backs of four other men. Apophis had used such a litter before, but rarely. The workers in the fields he had passed were also slaves, he knew.
It was in his heart to free these people, but he did not know how. He would meditate upon that as well, when the time came. First he had to free O'Neill, DanielJackson and Major Carter, if they were indeed enslaved. Then they would free rest of this world.
Morning found Jack exhausted and nodding, almost choking himself repeatedly
as he passed in and out of a light slumber. Then the doors opened and the shouting began.
His collar was released and Jack was pushed down off of the platform. He landed in a heap, unable to catch himself, and was pulled roughly to his feet again. Shouted questions battered his ears, but he did not understand and was too damn tired to try very hard. He stumbled into the bright, quiet morning and was shoved across the hard packed dirt to where the overseer, an ugly, red-faced, bantam of a man, was standing. Off balance with fatigue and because his arms were still tightly bound, he was pushed to the ground at the man's feet. He landed in a sprawl and lay there, enjoying the momentary rest, while more shouting and gesturing went on over his head.
The corpse was brought out. The overseer grabbed a handful of Jack's hair and pulled him up to kneel. The overseer shouted a question, pointing at the corpse.
"Yeah, yeah. It was an accident. I'm very sorry. Can we get this over with?"
Apparently the overseer took Jack's tired nod for a confession. His pinched face grew red. He shouted unintelligibly at Jack, pointing and gesturing. Translating under his breath, Jack said, "You'll pay for this. You're a bad bad man. Yadda yadda yadda." Wrenching at his hands for the umpteenth time, he rolled his aching shoulders and settled his butt back on his heels to wait for the man to wind down. Damn, he was thirsty. He licked his cracked lips and swallowed.
Looking around, he noticed that he was the only non-guard out and about this morning. The table was set up for breakfast, but he compound was quiet and deserted, except for the guards and the overseer. Probably didn't want the pickers to get any ideas, he decided.
It did not take long for the bantam to realize Jack had not the slightest idea nor interest in what he was saying. He motioned two men forward and Jack was hauled to his feet and they untied his arms at last. His hands were throbbing, his shoulders on fire as he eased them forward with a grimace. Someone shoved the loincloth into his hands, but he dropped it. He caught the fabric the second time and tied it clumsily around his waist. Once he was done, he was dragged over to the tree and pushed to sit beneath it, which was fine with him. It was shady under that tree, and almost cool. Very restful. He leaned his head back on the rough bark and closed his eyes.
He had almost succeeded in falling asleep when he was pulled to his feet again. "What now?" he asked in irritation. A litter was being carried up the hill on the backs of four large men. "Now who could this be?"
"Tace, canis!" A hard shove sent Jack to his sore knees as the litter crested the hill.
"I'm getting really tired of getting shoved around, here. Couldn't you just, I don't know, point and grunt?" The guard raised a hand threateningly and Jack subsided.
A well-dressed man emerged from the litter. He wore a long, white tunica with green stripes and was draped by a length of green cloth, caught at one shoulder. The overseer approached him, bowed, and pointed at Jack. They spoke for a few moments, looking back at him from time to time with grim expressions. Jack drew himself up to a kneeling parade rest and focused on the distant hills. It was really kind of pretty here, he mused. Very green. The air smelled good, like Minnesota but without the mosquitoes.
The man climbed back into his litter without another glance in Jack's direction and he was carried back down the hill. The conference was finally over, by the looks of things. The overseer walked back to Jack. He put his hands on his hips and glared down at the kneeling Colonel. Speaking very slowly, he said, "Nil mortus tu. Scia? Plecta mia tu. Carus para dominus." He rubbed his fingers together in a universal gesture of coins being rubbed together.
"Nil mortus... You're not gonna kill me? Oh, good." Jack nodded to show he understood at least part of what the man had said. "Just don't make an example out of me. I hate that."
Content that Jack understood him, the overseer called to another guard. "Adde furca." The guard grinned nastily and ran to the main tent. He returned minutes later carrying a large wooden contraption shaped like a letter "A."
"Example time, huh?" He looked from the grinning man holding the wooden thing to the overseer and grimaced. "I'm supposed to do what, exactly, with that?" He wiped a trickle of sweat from his eyes, then looked around at the ring of armed men surrounding the open yard of the camp. Not great odds. The overseer motioned him to rise.
Jack hauled himself in stages to his sore feet, resting half way with his hands on his knees. It was now or never.
Taking aim at the most bored looking guard, Jack was off like his namesake, his bare feet pounding the dirt and kicking up dust as he went. It took a moment for them to react, and by the time they did Jack was through the guards and racing for the tree line. The work camp was on top of a low hill, with the vineyards surrounding it on all sides. Beyond the fields, groves of olive trees stretched over more hills into the distance. Beyond reaching them, Jack had really not planned, hoping to reach some kind of town or village where he could steal some clothes and start looking for his kids.
Of course, the original plan was to do this in the dead of night. Not in broad, way too bright daylight with every guard and overseer in the place on his heels as he hoofed it. He berated himself mentally, but did not spare the breath for anything but running.
Then he was falling, his legs tangled and useless in some sort of weighted rope. He fell head over heels, tumbling painfully as his momentum carried him forward until he rolled to a jarring stop against the trunk of the first of the olive trees. "So close," he muttered. Then he was surrounded again by angry-faced guards and hauled to his knees and held there.
They had brought that "A" thing with them. "Oh, wonderful. Well, you know," he panted, looking up at the circle of faces, "screw you guys. You're not putting that thing on me." He crossed his arms and glared at them defiantly. This seemed to amuse them, all but one man who looked way too much like Colgate-boy to be anything but a blood relative. That one just stared at Jack, his dark eyes cold, and backhanded the kneeling man into the dirt.
"Furca. Custodia agere." His voice was as cold as his eyes. None to gently, Jack was hauled to his knees again, and held there. The apex of the A was forced over his head, the heavy beams pressing painfully on his sunburned shoulders. Then they secured his hands to the legs of the thing, their numbers making his struggles a mockery. A collar, inset into the furca, made certain he could not slip it off over his head.
When they were done, Colgate-boy's brother crouched before Jack, wrenching the wooden framework to bring Jack face to face with him. He pointed to himself and said, "Hastatus. Iteras."
Jack shook his head tiredly. "I don't understand."
The man pointed to himself again, shaking the furca once, roughly. "Hastatus. Iteras."
"For crying out loud! Hastatus, already!"
The man, Hastatus, grinned. "Bene." He pointed to Jack and said, "Canis. Iteras."
The translation filtered through Jack's tired mind. Canis. Dog. "Go to hell. My name is Colonel Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force."
Something of his tone must have filtered through, even though the meaning was lost. Smiling coldly, Hastatus grasped the furca and pulled sharply downward, forcing the legs of the thing to the dirt and dragging Jack along with it. Unable to catch himself, Jack's throat landed hard on the crosshatch, choking him. Hastatus bent down and hissed in his ear, "Canis. Iteras."
Coughing, Jack struggled to draw a breath. He was bent, half-sprawling, with his upper body held up by the furca and the whole weight of it was on his throat. Hastatus leaned on the frame, holding it down as Jack struggled, his feet kicking as he tried to kneel up and breathe again. "Colonel J-Jack O'Ne..." he gasped. Then his world went gray around the edges. Then it went away altogether.
Claudius woke up abruptly, jolted out of sleep by the a particularly jarring bounce. He looked up and saw that the young man was asleep. The reins were slack in his hands and the cart was rolling along with one wheel on the road and the other in the dirt. The mare was grazing happily on the verge, and moving farther off the road with every step. "Daniel. W-wake up." He clambered over the back of the seat and took the reins guiding the horse back onto the road with a lurch.
The young man woke with a jerk, blinking furiously in the bright daylight. "Huh..what...?" He looked at Claudius in confusion, then rubbed his hands briskly over his face. "Sorry. Must have dozed off." He reached for the reins again, but Claudius held on to them.
"Get some sleep, my friend. You've been dr-driving all night. I can manage for a bit. We're a couple of hours from the vineyard. There's an inn, The D-Drunken Carter, I think it's called, just before the r-road that leads there, if I recall correctly. We'll rest the horse, get some provisions, and then see about freeing your C-C-Colonel, all right?"
Looking back at his sleeping friend, Daniel said, "But what if someone sees? Won't it look suspicious, you driving while your sl..."
"Wait." Claudius held up a hand. Daniel subsided, looking puzzled. Reining the horse to a stop, Claudius dipped his hand in his pouch and pulled out a coin. He handed it to Daniel. "That's for your l-loyal service to me and m-m-my family. Now give it to me."
Daniel handed it back, comprehension beginning to dawn.
"Good. You've just bought freedom for yourself and your 'sister.'" He pocketed the coin again and clucked the mare into motion once more. "Now g-get some sleep."
He could tell the young man was pleased; his eyes were smiling as he climbed into the back of the cart. Claudius only hoped Grandmother Livia wouldn't be too angry when he came back without them at the end of this little adventure. Of course, she rarely had any patience for him on the best of days. She would probably just call him an idiot and stalk out of the room. Well, he thought, I can live with that. It would not be the first time.
"The Drunken Carter, huh? Sam will love that," Daniel said sleepily. Claudius smiled to himself. He was enjoying the company of these two young people very much. It was very refreshing to be able to speak with someone and not be interrupted with the end of your sentence.
At length, topping yet another hill, he saw the inn. The large villa rustica was nestled into the trees at the valley floor, half of the bulk of it hidden by the tall laurels. A stream babbled by it pleasantly, and he heard the distant clang of metal on metal. That, and the column of white smoke rising up from an outbuilding, told him that a blacksmith had set up shop near the inn. He was glad of this; the boy's off-road driving had loosened one of the wheels of the cart. A good blacksmith could set that aright quickly.
He pulled the cart to a stop in the inn's stable-yard, a large open area of clean sand and straw. The inn formed one wall of the yard, and the open stables formed the other two. There were few horses in the stables, most of the travelers having moved on already. A bay gelding stamped in one of the airy stalls and chickens scratched in the sandy yard, squawking riotously as they rolled to a stop.
A young girl, no more than ten or eleven years old, scampered out of the inn and took the mare's halter. "Good morning, honored guests!" The child was tiny next to the black mare, but she held the halter confidently as Claudius shook his charges awake and they clambered out of the cart. "Breakfast is over, but Pater is sure to have something for you to eat, if you're hungry."
"Th-thank you, child. Is the s-smith busy, today? Our c-c-cart is in n-need of some repair."
Daniel looked alarmed at this. "Repair? What's wrong with it?" He bent to examine the framework, calling Sam over to look as well.
"It's all right. Just a b-bit of a loose wheel. Nothing that c-c-can't be fixed." The stable girl was looking at him curiously; his head twitched abruptly and she jumped, startled.
Claudius grimaced, then smiled kindly at the girl. She was just a commoner, he reminded himself, and quite ignorant. Such reactions shouldn't hurt anymore; he'd been getting them most of his life. "The smith?" He prompted gently.
The girl pointed, then busied herself unhitching the mare and brushing her down. "T-thank you, child." He handed the girl a sestertius, then limped toward the sound of clanging metal, Daniel and Sam trailing behind him.
They were speaking in their language, English, as Sam had called it, and he caught a few words, but not the meaning. Sam sounded worried, urgent. Daniel sounded like he was trying to calm her down. Taking a guess at what they were talking about, he spoke over his shoulder as he walked, "We will only be here a short while. Then we go on to your friend. Tell Sam we are v-very close."
"You understood us? That's...you're a quick study. English isn't an easy language to learn." Daniel spoke quickly to Sam, translating what they were saying, Claudius supposed.
Rounding a corner, they found themselves in the smith's courtyard. A barn-like structure stood at one end, its doors open wide. The clanging came from inside; they followed the sound, meeting a wall of heat and noise as they entered.
The smith was a huge man, broad shouldered and ruddy from the heat of his forge. His equally large assistant worked the bellows, stoking the coals as the smith held a rod of metal in the fire. He brought it out, red-hot and sparking, and set it on the anvil. Looking up briefly, he noted the three people in his smithy and grunted at his assistant, gesturing toward them with a toss of his head. He brought his hammer down with a sharp blow that sent sparks flying.
The younger man, an apprentice, Claudius assumed, approached them. "Yes?"
"We are h-having a problem with our cart," Claudius said. "It has a loose wheel. Can your m-m-master fix it?" The boy motioned them back into the courtyard. Despite the heat of the day, it was noticeably cooler and much quieter outside.
"My master," the boy said with a wry grimace, "has enough work in commissions to last the rest of the week. Let me take a look at your cart; he usually leaves those things to me. I am Alvanus Artifex, apprentice to Creopacis. Lead the way." The young man pulled on a relatively clean shirt and gathered a few tools, leaning into the smithy to tell his master where he was going. A grunt and a clang were his reply. Alvanus smiled ruefully and motioned for Claudius to precede him.
The stable-girl was nowhere to be found, but the mare had been well tended. She had been rubbed down and given feed and clean water and the cart had been rolled to one side of the yard. Daniel wandered over to check on the horse as Sam and Alvanus hunkered down and examined the loose wheel.
Deciding to leave the apprentice to his work, Claudius followed Daniel. There was a question in his mind, and he was not quite certain how to ask it. The story the young man had told of other worlds had seemed so far fetched, yet the man clearly believed what he was saying. Which meant he was either mad, or everything Claudius had ever believed about his world was a lie. A fable to rival the tales of the gods. He had to know, to see for himself.
He picked up a stiff brush and ran it over the mare's flank, to have something to do. Daniel was leaning on a post, looking vaguely toward Sam and the large, blonde smith. His eyes were distant, though, as if he was looking at something no one else could.
"What do you s-see, Daniel?" Claudius asked hesitantly. That was not the question he had intended to ask, but for a moment the boy had reminded him of the Cybelle. He had the same look of otherworldliness as had the prophetess. The mare's shining coat glided smoothly under Claudius' strong hands as he brushed the black expanse.
Looking back at Claudius, then down at the ground, Daniel flicked a quick, nervous smile. "Not much. It's too bright. I can hear Sam over there somewhere," he gestured toward the cart, then rubbed his eyes. "I'm okay. What's the plan now?" He turned into the dim shade of the stable, his tense face relaxing somewhat in the softer light. "Do you know this Callas?" The spell was broken. He would wait until another time to ask his question.
"Only by reputation. He makes ve-very good wine. I know nothing about the man personally." He put the brush down and patted the horse's flank, scratching her behind the ears. The mare leaned into his touch and he scratched a little harder. "I had planned to buy your friend back. Th-th-that s-seemed easiest."
Daniel shook his head. "Knowing Jack, he hasn't endeared himself to his owners. That may work in our favor, though. Maybe they'll be anxious to get rid of him."
A happy exclamation from Sam caught their attention. Claudius saw her slap the bemused apprentice on the shoulder, a huge grin on her face. He limped over to the pair, Daniel following. "Is it fixed, already?"
"He lift, kick." Sam said, in her fractured Latin. She gestured to the wheel.
"It's a knack," the youth said modestly. "There was not that much wrong with it; I didn't even have to use my tools."
They settled on a fee of three denarii, with one more as a tip, and the young man went back to his labors. "Get Colonel now?" Sam asked. Her Latin was improving, really, Claudius reflected.
"We eat n-now." Claudius answered her in English. "No you eat y-yesterday since. Fruit!"
Sam broke into startled laughter. "Okay, okay. We eat now. Then get Jack."
The innkeeper had set up tables and benches in the foreyard. The portly man introduced himself as Horace "Not the poet" Hospes, and set down trays of bread, cheese, and fresh fruits before his guests. It was not time yet for the new wine, so they had to make due with an older, but quite palatable, vintage. Sam and Daniel drank sparingly, adding more water than wine, and seemed to enjoy it. There were a few other guests at the tables, but not many. The morning meal was past; the noon meal was yet to be served. Those who were at table were either late risers or travelers who stopped on their way, as Claudius and his charges had done.
Nibbling on a wedge of pale Romano cheese, Sam turned to watch the other patrons. "She is very c-c-curious, is she nnot?" Claudius turned to ask Daniel. "Every time I look at her she is finding things out, exploring. She's so different from the other women I know."
Daniel swallowed his bread and nodded. "I'm not surprised. She's a very accomplished scientist, and a scholar." Sam turned to look at the two men, realizing they were talking about her. "She is also very observant."
The woman looked from one man to the other. "What?" She put down her cheese and threw a grape at Daniel. "Stop talking around me. Latin good speak, now."
Claudius couldn't help himself. He burst into laughter, loud, belly laughter that shook the table and threatened to spill the wine. Daniel and Sam just stared at him, which made him laugh harder. "L-Latin good s-s-s-s-speak? Oh my merciful heavens!" He wiped his eyes, trying to contain himself, but couldn't stop. "Wine...give me wine..." he hiccupped. Sam pressed the cup into his hand and he took a gulp, then another.
"You okay, Claudius?" She asked, a smile playing around her lips. "Funny I not am, usually."
Of course, this set him off again. Even Daniel was starting to look amused.
A shadow fell across the table, accompanied by the smell of sweat and cinders. "Who do you think you are, trying to cheat me!" A harsh voice bellowed. The smith, Creopacis, stood over the group, his huge fists on his hips. Claudius hiccupped to a stop, blinking up at the man.
"Ch-ch-cheat you?" Damn the stammer. It was always worse when someone was trying to intimidate him, whether he willed it so or no. A helpful disability, dealing with the internecine dramas of the imperial family; safer to act the fool than be taken for wise, especially since Tiberius had become Emperor. It was not terribly useful, otherwise, and Claudius had often wished himself rid of it. "We p-p-p-..."
"Paid my apprentice far too little for the job?" The man smiled nastily. "Yes, I know. The fee is seven denarii, you stammering fool, not three. Now pay me, or I'll put your little cart back the way it was, and then some."
Daniel stood up and stepped between the smith and Claudius. "There's no need to get hostile. We paid your apprentice what he asked. He said it was a simple job and..."
Creopacis held up a hand. "Enough. I do not deal with slaves, nor freedmen. I was speaking to your master, boy, if not your better." He shoved Daniel to one side and advanced on Claudius, anger in his small eyes. "I'll have the money out of you one way or another, you limping freak."
"Hey!" Daniel placed a hand on the smith's arm. "That's enough of that!"
Without warning, the burly smith turned and hit the younger man in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. He lay still, in the dirt, blood leaking from a split lip.
"Daniel!" Sam looked from her fallen friend to the hulking blacksmith. She spit a stream of angry invective at him, which the man clearly did not understand. He grinned humorlessly down into her face as she stepped up to him.
"Out of my way, girl. I'll deal with you in a few minutes." He reached out and, before she quite realized what his intent was, pinched her breast.
Claudius did not see exactly what happened, but there was a quick and violent scuffle. When the dust cleared the man was on the ground with Sam kneeling on his back. His arm was twisted up painfully behind him, and he was asking for her forgiveness in frightened and abject tones. She did not look too inclined to grant it.
"Claudius, help Daniel, yes?" She asked.
He was on his feet and lurching to the fallen man before she finished speaking. The scuffle had brought some of the inn's guests outside, along with the innkeeper. He looked over the scene and smiled with some satisfaction. Motioning for help, he went to where Daniel was measuring his length in the dirt. "We'll carry him inside; my mother knows something of healing."
"We apologize for the di-disturbance," Claudius began.
Horace shook his head. "Creopacis is a bully. He's always been a bully. It's time someone bested him." He looked over to where Sam was kneeling on the man's back and chuckled. "This story will be well worth the price of your meal, and your friend's healing. Let us bring him in. Tell your Amazon that she can let Creopacis up now. I do not think he will cause you further trouble."
"Teal'c!" Sam's glad shout startled both men. She sprang up from her captive and flew across the yard and into the arms of one of the patrons, a huge, dark-skinned Nubian, who had just emerged from the inn.
The dark man returned her embrace, and again they spoke in English for several moments. The man looked from Sam to Claudius, questioning, and then Sam motioned Claudius forward. They went into the inn together, Sam leading the way, to where Daniel had been taken.
As they arrived, an old woman was placing a compress on the unconscious man's head, murmuring to herself. Claudius could smell herbs, but did not know enough to identify which ones she was using in her poultice. Sam took Daniel's hand, looking down at him with concern, and asked Teal'c a question. Claudius missed the younger man's translations, feeling quite left out of the conversation.
To his surprise, the Nubian turned to him and said, in a deep voice, "Major Carter asked where I have been. I have told her. I understand you have been the protector of Major Carter and Daniel Jackson. I thank you. I am Teal'c." His accent was stilted, but his Latin was very good. Not quite as good as a native speaker, but enough to serve.
"I'm C-C-Claudius. Very nice to meet you. Is Daniel going to be all right?"
The old woman answered. "He's fine. Just a nasty knock. He'll be coming around soon. Now, all of you, get out of my...."
"Sam?" Daniel's voice was weak.
She smiled down at him. "Hi, Daniel."
Teal'c stepped up and said, "It is good to see you, DanielJackson."
The young man's eyes opened wider, tracking from Sam to the Nubian. "Teal'c?" He broke into a startled grin, then winced as it jarred his head. He reached out and touched the man's arm, squinting up at him. "You're not dead."
Vineyard
Sharp pain in the ribs. Duller pain to the neck, head, throat. Jack swallowed and coughed dryly, not really wanting to open his eyes, but the foot prodding his side insisted. "All right, enough. I'm awake." His voice sounded small and gravelly to his ears and his head was pounding like a kettledrum.
He lay on his side in an awkward sprawl, the furca holding him half propped, half pinned under its weight. Squinting against the sun's glare, he tried to roll to his feet, but the furca stole all leverage, unbalancing him. He fell back on the hard wood, wincing when the edges dug into his new collection of bruises.
The foot probed again, and then kicked, aiming at the darkening bruise where his ribs had collided with the olive tree at the end of his dash for freedom. Agony blossomed and Jack bit back a yell of pain and anger. Hastatus loomed over him, grinning, his breath every bit as fresh as his dead kinsman's. "Salute, Canis. Bene somnus?" Jack just glared, trying to catch his breath.
Hastatus drew his foot back again and Jack redoubled his attempts to move. The furca weighed heavily on his bare shoulders as Jack struggled to sit up. Finally, in a burst of impatience, Hastatus bent and hauled him up onto unsteady feet. Jack swallowed painfully; his throat felt bruised. Hell, his body felt bruised. He stood swaying, trying to find his center of balance, but his keeper had other priorities. With a rough shove that nearly sent Jack toppling again, they started the long walk back to camp.
"What did I say about the pushing thing?" Jack asked. Hastatus cuffed the back of his head in reply. Wincing, Jack said, "You really need to take some anger management classes, Hastatus ol' pal. Do something about your interpersonal relationship skills."
"Tace." There was a whistling sound, then a line of fire traced across Jack's back. He bit his lip, and shut up.
While he had been out, evidently, the slaves had been sent back to work. He was pushed, cuffed, and otherwise chivvied through the vineyard, moving through the ranks of chained men. "I really, really hate being an example," he muttered. Very few of the men would meet his eyes. They picked methodically, moving down a row at a time, their baskets slowly filling with large, ripe grapes, so purple they were almost black.
Jack hoped like hell that Daniel and Sam were not in a place like this. He tried not to think about them, concentrating instead on getting free himself so he could go after them. Despite himself, though, images kept popping into his tired mind. Danny with chains around his wrists, trying so hard to talk their way out, then turning pale and angry when Jack was brought to the block. Sam fastened together with a line of other women and led away, looking pissed and scared. Teal'c lying in a spreading pool of blood. Jack cursed under his breath. He had to get free. His team needed him.
Through the ache his body had become, Jack began to notice other, more ominous symptoms. His skin was dry and hot. He had not yet stopped sweating, so heat stroke was a way off, but dehydration was creeping up on him, stealing his acuity, his energy. He needed water, soon. Heat stroke was not something he wanted to experience again, especially with no handy IV cannulas or bags of Ringer's to help rehydrate him. No way to free yourself if your brain is fried and you dry up and blow away.
Knowing it was probably futile and that he would regret the next few moments, Jack stopped a few feet ahead of Hastatus and turned. "Look, I need water, or I'm gonna pass out. No more example for the other kiddies to play nice. Just boring, old unconscious Jack. Soon to be boring, old dead Jack. Your boss doesn't want that any more than I do."
"Tac..."
Jack waved his hands, then regretted it as ropes cut into his wrists. "Don't say tace. Aqua. I need aqua." He licked his cracked lips and waited for a response. "Aqua? Please? Por favor? Placate?"
The man looked dubiously at him, and then his face broke into a nasty smile. Jack rolled his eyes. "I hate it when they do that. Whatever you're thinking, don't. Just give me some water, goddamn it!"
"Aqua. Sitis tu?" Hastatus laughed, then took hold of the furca and began dragging Jack back to the camp on the hill. Pushing was apparently too slow going. "Obtinea aqua tu. Sequae, Canis."
Pulled at a stumbling trot, Jack followed behind Hastatus. They passed quickly through the camp and into the pressing building. Jack wiggled his fingers at the three men on the pressing platform as he was dragged through. "Hi, fellas. Having fun?" The men watched him pass with wide eyes, their endless march slowed until he had passed. He heard a whisper before being pulled into the next room: "Carnifex."
The inner room was cooler, being protected by thick walls. The cool stones felt wonderful against his feet. He leaned against the wall, sagging and bending at the waist, letting the furca drag him down for a moment and resting his back and arms. Damn thing was heavy. Then Jack heard water sloshing, and he licked his lips in anticipation.
Moments later, dirty, sandaled feet walked back into his line of vision. His keeper wrenched him back upright, grinning into his face. "Aqua." Then a rope was wrapped around his right hand and he was wrenched to that side by a heavy weight. Before he could recover, a second sloshing weight was forced into his left hand, balancing the scale.
Hastatus hung a dried gourd around Jack's neck on a string. "Aqua. Biba toto queo." Jack bit back a howl of frustration and rage as the weight dragged him down. Hastatus just laughed and patted his head affectionately.
Bent almost double from the hideously shifting weight of the buckets, Jack was turned and a rope was tied around his neck. A leash. His keeper tugged it and he was forced to follow, or choke. He tried to drop the buckets, but he couldn't bend his wrists far enough. The hemp rope cut into his hands as he tried to wriggle free and water splashed on the ground as he stumbled. Jack tried not to think about it as the cool drops splashed on his feet. The smell of water was everywhere.
Hastatus stopped him in the outer room. He took the gourd from Jack's neck and handed it to one of the men on the platform. They each drank, then the gourd was returned. A tug of the leash and they were off again. Out of the building, into the yard. Jack could not lift his head to see where he was being dragged. Just the dirt, his feet, the rope, and the water, just out of reach. It was maddening. Maddening, hell. It was infuriating.
The dirt gave way to grass, and then Jack was seeing grape vines off to either side. He was stopped every few feet by a tug on the leash, allowing the workers to drink their fill. Twice, they returned to the water barrels to refill the buckets. Hastatus gave him a sip on the second trip, enough to wet his lips, then poured the rest of the gourd on the ground. Jack watched the water flow into the packed dirt and thought up yet another creative way to kill his keeper.
The day wore on and Jack was led up one endless line of vines, and down the next. His wrists and shoulders felt raw, his mouth like a desert, and his back was about to break. His ears were still sharp, though, and he began to hear whispers. "Bellator caederae Harundo." "Harundo mortus est." Apparently, a certain gap-toothed bastard had been missed. By the looks on the faces of the men in the fields, he would not be mourned. Jack drew great comfort from that.
Coming to a stop, he looked up at Hastatus with cold eyes and straightened his back with a painful effort of will. Under his breath he said, "I am Colonel Jack O'Neill of SG-1. You are a waste of skin, you sadistic bastard." He'd be damned if this jerk was going to see him cave. With a toothy smile, he turned and offered water to the next man in line. By chance, it was his companion from yesterday, the one with the brand on his cheek. FUG. Jack wondered what it meant.
The branded man took the gourd and drank, then looked toward Hastatus. The guard was looking away, his eyes on the progress of the pickers. Refilling the gourd, the man held it to Jack's lips. "Bibae, cito." Jack drank, gulping the warm water in surprise.
"Thanks." The branded man grimaced and hung the gourd back around Jack's neck, then held up a bunch of grapes. Looking over his shoulder again to be sure he wasn't seen, the man placed four grapes into Jack's mouth. Jack chewed quickly and swallowed, the ripe grapes bursting in his mouth with juice and a wonderful flavor. "God, that's good. Thank you. Gracias." The branded man put a finger to his lips and scowled. He pushed him toward Hastatus, who was looking back at him suspiciously, and turned back to the vines.
The whisper preceded them and now, whenever Hastatus was not looking, Jack received a dipper of water or a few grapes, or both. By the time the buckets were empty for the third time, he was starting to feel almost human again. A very tired, bruised, pissed off, Black ops trained human who was no longer in danger of passing out from dehydration or low blood sugar. Jack had his second wind, or maybe his third. At any rate, he wasn't going to get any less tired with laughing boy as his goad.
He swung the buckets experimentally. They had a nice heft to them, swinging ponderously at the end of their hemp handles. He discounted the red stain creeping down those ropes; his hands had gone numb an hour ago. Focus on priorities. Jack looked at the back of Hastatus' head, noted the positions of the other guards and that, right now, he was positioned quite near the trees.
He had a sudden, lovely vision of one of the buckets crashing down on his keeper's head. Well, he thought madly, no time like the present.
The Drunken Carter
Brushing the poultice from his head, Daniel sat up, then swayed. Their host's wife scowled at him even as she put out a steadying hand. "You should not rise so soon. Creopacis has a hard hand, and you a soft head." She scolded him in an acid tone of voice, but her eyes were worried. "You should stay abed until tomorrow at the latest."
The dimly lit room tilted as he struggled to his feet, then righted itself queasily. "We must go. Thank you for your help, Caupona, but my friends will leave without me if I stay abed any longer." He took a cautious step, then another. His head felt twice as big as normal, and throbbed with every heartbeat. Nausea roiled in his stomach; the out of focus blur before his eyes did not help matters, but the door was before him. It was also opening, and he pasted a serene expression on his face to meet whoever was coming through.
"Why are you standing, DanielJackson?" Teal'c, wonderfully solid and real and alive, looked sternly down at his swaying friend. Sam peered around the Jaffa's bulk and glared.
"Daniel, you look like...."
He held up a hand and made a Jack sound. "Aaarh! I'm fine. You're leaving to get Jack and I'm coming with you." There, end of argument. He stood straighter and walked toward the door, expecting Teal'c to move out of his way.
Fortunately for Daniel's head, Teal'c's reflexes were very good. Daniel registered strong hands supporting him as the floor reached up and tripped him. With Teal'c's help, he found his way to a chair and sank into it. "I am going with you to get Jack," he said. "If you try to go without me, I'll follow you." If I have to crawl, he added mentally, and it might come to that if my head keeps trying to come off.
"You can't walk more than five feet without collapsing, Daniel," Sam pointed out. "How do you expect to rescue Jack?"
Caupona set a cup of steaming, pale green tea in front of him. "What's this?" Grimacing at her confused expression, he translated quickly into Latin.
"Willow bark tea, young man. It will help your head." She set a pouch beside the cup. "More for later. Drink, if you will not listen to reason. One cup every four hours. No more and no less." Sam poked at the bag and it fell over with a rustle of dried leaves. The mild aroma of the tea eased Daniel's nausea and he took a cautious sip. It was bitter and astringent and his head started feeling better almost immediately. The old woman gave a harrumph, but looked pleased as the lines of tension eased around her patient's eyes and mouth. She tidied up the bedchamber quickly and bustled out of the room, leaving the three to talk.
Sam sat with a sigh as Daniel sipped the hot tea. "What is the plan, anyway. Are we going to walk in and pull him out, or what? You're looking better, by the way. Not quite so pale."
"Thanks." He took another sip, then said, "Claudius' idea was to buy him back." Daniel finished the tea, feeling much better. The headache was a dull throb now, and his jaw felt normal sized.
"Buy him back?" Sam sounded incredulous. "That's a terrible plan! What if this Callas guy wants more for the Colonel than we have to offer? What if he won't sell? Way too many variables." She stood and began to pace, muttering to herself. "Frontal assault...no...too risky.... Need a way to free him without question...relatives? Legal way...." Daniel watched her with a bemused smile on his face as she worked through the problem.
Claudius came in quietly, looking very relieved when he saw that Daniel was awake. "What's wrong?" He watched Sam pacing and noted how the other two men in the room just stayed out of her way. He joined them at the table.
"Sam's trying to think up a way to free Jack without buying him. She's afraid Callas won't sell."
Pouring a generous cup of wine, Claudius said, "It's a p-pity neither of you are r-related to him."
Sam demanded translations and Daniel obliged. "What does he mean?"
"Well, as the relative of a freeborn person, he would have never been sold in the first place," Claudius explained. "You could go to C-Callas, claim blood-kinship, and Callas would have no choice but to f-free your friend. But of course you're not." Teal'c translated softly as the older man spoke.
"Of course! I thought I remembered reading something like that. That's the plan, then." She grinned triumphantly.
"Um...one problem," Daniel said. "Jack doesn't speak the language. How do we explain that? And, as our ham fisted friend the blacksmith pointed out, I don't exactly look freeborn." Their clothes were actually not that different from anyone else's, but they were of a poorer quality. Obviously hand-me-downs. The problem, he realized, was the difference between the way Sam and he were dressed and the way Claudius was attired. The Emperor's nephew wore a tunica of good linen with blue piping, and had good leather sandals, where Sam and Daniel were barefoot and much more shabbily dressed.
"The Taur'i have a saying, DanielJackson. The clothes make the man."
Sam nodded. "Once you're in better clothes, who'll know the difference?"
"And the language issue?" Daniel was half convinced.
Teal'c said, "Perhaps O'Neill has not said much since his arrival at the vineyard."
Sam and Daniel exchanged a look, then looked back at Teal'c, who thought a moment and then inclined his head in agreement. "You are both correct. It would be uncharacteristic for O'Neill to remain silent under any type of duress or involuntary servitude. But he would not be understood by his captors."
"The Colonel has a way of making himself understood, Teal'c. Tone of voice conveys a great deal." Sam grimaced and sat down. "So, Daniel, you're Jack's brother. Claudius is a friend of the family. Teal'c and I are...."
"Staying here," Daniel said, interrupting. He looked away and down, not meeting Sam's eyes, though she was close enough he could have seen her expression. The sudden anger radiating off of her was warning enough.
In a low, very patient voice, Sam said, "It's a little too early in history for chivalry, Daniel. May I remind you who kicked blacksmith tush and who ended up with knuckle-marks on his face? I can't believe you would even suggest, or think of suggesting that I stay here."
She was furious, but Daniel had to make her understand. "That was one man, Sam. What if there had been two or three? More? We can't afford to put you at risk, not when we're this close to getting home." He knew his argument was not logical and could see her begin poking holes already.
With translation help from Daniel and Teal'c, Claudius was following the conversation. Now he said, "She should go."
Daniel turned to him, incredulous, and winced as the sudden movement made his headache flare anew. "What? Do you have any idea what could happen to her if this goes wrong? If our bluff gets called?" They would be sold again, and Claudius possibly tried for theft. The penalty for assisting a fugitive slave was death, for slave and freeborn both. Daniel did not think Claudius' standing within the imperial family was so great as to save him from prosecution.
"MajorCarter is a skilled warrior, DanielJackson. If it comes to fighting, I would have her at my side." Teal'c turned and translated the conversation for the fuming Carter. She looked pleased and surprised by Teal'c's words and flashed a quick smile at her supporters. She turned a determined countenance to Daniel and said, "I'm going."
This was one fight Daniel could not see himself winning, but he had to make them understand. He reached out and put a hand on Sam's arm. "Sam, I don't doubt your ability. It's our ability to protect you if anything goes wrong that I'm worried about. If it comes to fighting, we're sunk already. We are on enemy ground, with no backup or weapons and vastly out-numbered. The whole legal system and way of life for these people is centered on the possession of other people. This is our one and only chance to get Jack out and ourselves home. I just wanted you to be safe if things went wrong; then at least you and Teal'c would be able to make your way back, maybe."
He could see her hackles going down and she patted his hand. "I understand the risks, Daniel, but I need to be in on this. Just get the Colonel out of there, okay?"
"That's the plan."
An hour later, a cart rolled out of the courtyard of the Drunken Carter. It was driven by a blonde youth and guarded by an imposing dark warrior with a fierce gaze that never stopped roaming, looking for threat. In the rear of the cart sat two noble-born men, one slightly older than the other, an uncle perhaps and a favored nephew. Horace waved them farewell from the door of the inn, his little daughter at his side.
At Claudius' direction, Sam guided the mare onto a side track that led out of the valley. Callas' villa was on the other side, spread out in the distance like a blurry postcard to Daniel's eyes. "Having a great time, wish you were here," he said softly. "I have no idea what I'm going to say to this guy."
Teal'c turned and said, "You will think of something, DanielJackson. You are a skilled speaker; O'Neill says that you can talk the posterior extremities off of the hybrid of an equine and a donkey." Sam grinned.
Daniel contemplated throwing a pillow at the Jaffa's head, but decided it would be out of character. "That's hind legs off a mule, and Jack exaggerates." Sometimes being the straight man of SG-1 got old and this was one of those times. When the stone-faced Jaffa was scoring points, it was time to rethink the whole dry-humor, serious guy image. Daniel rubbed his eyes for the thousandth time, taking refuge in the restful dark behind his eyelids as he rehearsed his spiel. The sun's glare was making his sore head ache and he was beginning to feel very nervous.
Looming closer, the villa was also coming into focus. It was a very pleasant place, really, all beige brick and silvery weathered wood. Yellow jasmine and honeysuckle covered the walls and their perfume scented the breeze that blew down towards them. Daniel sneezed and wished for a Kleenex and a couple of Benadryl.
The road led past the villa and over the hill, but Sam guided the cart into the cool shade of the villa's stable yard. A barefoot servant stood waiting for them and helped Claudius and Daniel out of the cart. The major domo was called for and they explained their business there. "I am sorry. The master has gone back to the vineyards. There has been a further disturbance that he felt he needed to take charge of. Would you care to wait?"
"Ah, no. I believe we will seek him out. Thank you all the same." They hurried back to the cart and filled the other two in.
"Do you think it's the Colonel?" Sam asked.
"Don't you?"
With a grimace, Sam slapped the reins on the black back and they continued up the road. "I wish for once in his life, the Colonel could make nice with the bad guys."
Daniel made a rude noise. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen."
They topped the hill and began descending into the vineyards. Row upon row of sweet smelling grapevines stretched to the distance, climbing down the hill and back up another. Lines of chained men were moving down the rows, but Jack was not among them that Daniel could see. They moved on, the sense of urgency growing stronger.
There were tents at the top of the next hill. They billowed like sails in the rising breeze. A single tree stood, surrounded by hard packed dirt marked by dozens of bare footprints. This appeared to be a central meeting place of some sort; a camp set up for the harvest. The hill was at the center of the sea of grapevines and from its vantage point, the entire vineyard could be seen.
A litter stood to one side of the open area, abandoned, and now that the cart had stopped they could hear sounds of a fight. The four scrambled down from the cart, Teal'c pausing to help Claudius, and ran toward the disturbance.
Wrenching his body sideways, Jack brought one of the buckets down on Hastatus' head. It made a most satisfying thud and the man fell like a sack of russets. "Never knew what hit him." A heel strike placed at the bastard's temple was just insurance; Hastatus was out cold. Freedom from the furca hung from his keeper's belt in the form of a small knife. Jack stooped and was immediately overbalanced, almost falling on top of the downed man.
"Dammit." He could not bend his hand enough to grasp the knife. He could touch it, but did not have enough leverage to draw it out. Looking up, Jack saw the row of pickers, mere feet away. The man with the brand on his face was among them. Stooping out of the other guards' line of sight, Jack ran in a low crouch along the line of grapevines. "Hey! A little help here."
A look of fear and alarm filled the branded man's face. He shook his head and continued picking, not looking back at Jack.
In disbelief, Jack said urgently, "He has keys to these chains." He kicked the chain at the man's feet. "You help me, we all go free."
The branded man looked over at the still figure of Hastatus. He saw the keys, and his eyes widened. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. Next to him was a sandy-haired man who looked down at Jack and said, "Nex omnes, Milesitis Senex. Tace ac abceda." They never turned from the vines, never stopped the steady twist and dip of their labor. The guard two rows down looked over at them, scowling, but did not say anything.
Jack ground his teeth in frustration. There was no way to make them understand and no way he'd last long with this damn wooden albatross around his neck. One last time, he tried to make them understand. "Just reach over and get the knife. Knife." He mimed a knife in his hand, gripping and cutting the ropes that held him to the furca. "Knife. Free. Help."
Comprehension dawned in the eyes of the branded man, but he did not move away from the vine. He shook his head and tapped his cheek. "Fugitivus." His voice was harsh and cracked, but his eyes were kind and sorrowful. With that, he returned his attention to the grapes, leaving Jack crouched on the ground, eating rage.
"Fine. Great." He loped unsteadily back to the fallen guard, the furca weighing a ton on his bent back and shoulders, and scrabbled for the knife again. His fingers were still tangled in the bucket rope, making his task all the more difficult. The hilt was in his fingers, the blade slipping free, when the body it belonged to began to move.
Panicked now, Jack grasped the knife hilt with fingers gone numb and pulled just as Hastatus sat up and bellowed, "Effugio!" He pushed Jack backwards and the knife went flying. The cry went up all around the vineyard and guards came running from their stations to converge on the fighting men.
Jack came up swinging, the empty barrels moving like hulking flails that clipped Hastatus in the jaw and kept the others at bay. His maneuverability severely curtailed by the furca, Jack used the weight of the thing as a ram, a pummel, a club. Distantly, he was aware that he had lost the scrap of cloth at his waist during the fracas. It meant nothing. That and his aches were forgotten in the immediacy of the fight as he kicked and swung, knocking the less well-trained men on their asses. A few of them did not get back up.
Hastatus recovered quickly and made a grab for one of the swinging barrels. He missed and Jack translated his momentum into a sweeping kick that laid the man out again. Two more took his place and Jack realized that it would not be enough to break free for the woods. He would have to put down every damned one of them to get free. Well, so be it. Served them right.
The overseer was screaming at him from a ways up the hill, but Jack couldn't make out the words. When he looked up again, half blinded with sweat and dust, the man in the green toga was next to him. Then Hastate was up again and this time his grab was successful. He swung Jack around, his broken and bloody mouth a grin of hate, and landed a punch to Jacks' bruised torso. The older man gasped for breath, giving Hastatus the opening he needed. "Necare mie frater, nothus! Canis! Mori tu!"
Hands made strong by hatred reached for Jack's face, head. One hand clasped his mouth and nose, cutting off his air. The other was grasping his hair, holding him in place. Other hands reached in, pushing him down, pummeling, holding him while he struggled to wrench his face free, to gasp one sip of breath.
"Desistere! Desistere jam!" The hands holding him down fell away, were wrenched away and there was sweet sweet air flooding his lungs again. He tried to stand, failed, and decided that the ground was a good place to be right now. Then more hands were pulling at him and he kicked at the dark form to which they were attached.
"Allow me to assist you, O'Neill," the form intoned. Jack squinted, put down what he saw to exhaustion and oxygen depravation, and then looked again.
"teal'c." His voice was hoarse and almost inaudible. "you're dead. am I dead too?"
"We are both alive, O'Neill." He looked around to see Carter on his other side, grimly working on the ropes around his wrists. She was blinking furiously and her cheeks were wet, but her fingers were sure. A yellowing bruise marred one cheek and Daniel had a much more recent bruise to his jaw. Jack wondered what had been going on.
"hey, carter...daniel. glad you could join the party." Jack's hands fell away from the furca at last, only to be caught and gently lowered to the ground. They felt like bags of wet cement, weighted and dead.
"Sam, get the water skin and my old tunica from the cart, okay?" Daniel's voice was soft and dangerous, filled with a tightly controlled rage to match Jack's. He didn't see her go, but Jack heard Carter's pounding footsteps as the furca was eased over his head. "Teal'c, help me get these ropes off of his hands."
Movement happened at the ends of his arms, but he couldn't feel anything much. Then, before Jack could protest, Daniel shucked off his tunica and eased it over Jack's head, down his arms, covering him at last. He blinked up at Daniel and forced a lopsided grin. "you been workin' out, danny?" Teal'c helped him to sit up and he swayed, then leaned back against the Jaffa. Daniel gave a half smile, ducking his head and then resumed picking bits of hemp from Jack's hand.
Carter ran back, giving Daniel a strange look as she handed him his shirt. She crouched and held the skin to Jack's mouth, and he drank thankfully, thirstily. Daniel pulled the tunica over his head, shrugging into the loose garment with a grimace of distaste. He kneeled next to Jack again, squinting. "You look like hell. Can you make it up the hill? We're getting out of here as soon as I talk to Callas."
"Who the hell is Callas?" Jack asked. His voice was still hoarse, but stronger now.
Daniel looked up the hill, then down and back at Jack. "Your, um, the guy who bought you." He looked up at Teal'c and Carter. "Get him up to the cart. We can go back to the inn after we're done here."
Jack watched as Daniel and a strange, limping man approached the man in the green toga and the overseer. The four men began talking at once, but Jack could not bring himself to care about what was being said. With Teal'c's help on one side and Carter's on the other, he made his slow way up the hill. Every ache, bruise, welt, and cuff was making itself known, and reaction was setting in. Too soon, damn it. They weren't out of the woods yet. Forcing himself to support his own weight, Jack topped the rise.
Hastate stood before them, between them and the cart. Anger glinted in his eyes and he leveled a finger at Jack, shouting.
To his surprise, Teal'c answered in the same language. The guard paled and backed away, then slunk back down the hill. "What did you say to him?" Carter wanted to know.
So, for that matter, did Jack.
"He accused O'Neill of killing his brother and expressed a desire to inflict further harm. I informed him that I would not allow that and if an attempt was made on any in our group, the consequences would be most unpleasant for him." Teal'c looked darkly angry at the man's retreating form, then turned to assist Jack into the cart.
Carter piled the cushions high and helped settle the sore man onto them. "Not much longer now, Sir. Are you comfortable?" She fussed with the cushions, careful not to jar his lacerated wrists, until he was ready to strangle her. Unfortunately, his arms were still on strike. He didn't want to think about moving his hands.
"I've been better, Carter. Then again, I've been worse. Recently. Where have you all been, and where did you find Teal'c?" The water, rest, and shade were doing wonders for his mental acuity, even though a chihuahua could probably best him two falls out of three at present. "Got any food, by the way? The hospitality here stinks."
"Oh, of course." A wedge of cheese was produced, along with some dried fruit, and, with Teal'c's assistance, O'Neill ate while his 2IC brought him up to speed.
"So, we're in Westworld?" Jack flexed his hand experimentally and hissed. "That's Daniel's theory?"
Before Sam could respond, Daniel and the other man topped the hill. The walked at a slow pace to accommodate the stranger's limp and they came alone. "It's done." Daniel said as they came in earshot. "Let's go."
Helping Claudius into the cart, Daniel looked back over his shoulder at the angry men coming up the hill. He had talked fast, spinning his tale of the good soldier, one of the last surviving veterans of Quintillius Varus' legions of doomed men. The soldier, addled in his wits until even his language was lost to him, wandering away from family and friends only to wash up on the auctioneers' block. It was a moving tale, and Claudius' presence added verisimilitude and weight to the story, for surely a member of the imperial family would not lie about such matters.
Then there was the issue of the murdered trustee. Harundo, his name had been. Jack had apparently killed him on his second night here, for reasons unknown. Callas had demanded payment for the price of the slain man, but Claudius had quietly pointed out the condition in which Jack had been found. The murdered man's brother had taken out the fee in O'Neill's hide, and then some. Grudgingly, Callas had called it even and waved them away. His overseer looked dyspeptic, and the slaves in the fields looked restless.
Daniel did not start breathing until the cart was rolling down the hill. Jack was tucked safely into the back, with Teal'c keeping a watchful eye out for trouble. Sam was keeping an eye out for potholes, trying to drive the cart as steadily as she could. Every now and again, though, a muffled curse would rise from the pile of pillows and she would wince in sympathy. Her shoulders were hard as rocks by the time they turned back to the smoother main road, headed for the inn.
"Where are we going, anyway?" Jack asked. "Carter said you had a map or a scroll or something." Now that the rough road was behind him, he was starting to look a little more comfortable.
Reaching down, Daniel put a hand on Jack's forehead. He was still far too hot and Daniel was not sure if it was a fever heat or sunstroke. "We're going back to the inn where we found Teal'c. There's a woman there who can help get you patched up." The headache was coming back again, making his temples throb and his eyes ache. There was also something uncomfortably wrong with his back. He rolled his shoulders trying to ease the tension there.
"If we have a way home, I'd rather trust Dr. Fraiser than the local witch doctor." Jack tried to sit up, but his hands wouldn't obey him. "Carter, aim this thing toward the exit and let's get out of here."
"Jack, no." O'Neill glared at him and Daniel hastened to explain. "We don't have any first aid supplies and you're burning up. The 'Gate is a couple of days away as near as I can tell, and you need to rest. You really do look like hell, Jack."
He had to feel like hell, too. Daniel flinched at the memory of Jack, naked and struggling under the weight of seven men as they tried to smother the life from him. What skin had not been bruised had been sunburned and god knew how long he'd been tied to that wooden thing. Long enough to leave pressure sores on his shoulders, anyway. The tunica had two matching stains now, one on each side.
Thankfully, he backed down. "Nevermind, Carter. Wake me when we get there." With a final glare at Daniel, Jack relaxed into the cushions and closed his eyes.
"Your f-friend is very stubborn." Claudius commented.
Jack's eyes popped open, two burning cinders, and affixed on Claudius. "Who did you say this was again, Daniel?" His gravelly voice was low and dangerous. Claudius looked taken aback at the hatred simmering in the older man's eyes, and he scooted a little farther from him.
Upon reflection, Daniel realized that Jack had probably very few pleasant associations with Latin right now. "This is Claudius. He, um, rescued us. Or helped us rescue ourselves. Got us out of the palace, anyway." He gave Claudius a reassuring nod.
"Actually, my name is Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus. Everyone in Rome has at least three or four names," Claudius explained diffidently. Daniel was suddenly glad he had not introduced himself with all five names when he'd first met Teal'c. When Daniel translated for Jack, he could see O'Neill was thinking the same thing. A smile twitched his lip and he relaxed once again.
"Colonel Jack O'Neill, SG-1. Please'ta meecha."
"P-p-please'ta meecha. Ita, Sam?" Claudius looked up to his language teacher for confirmation.
"Ita. Bene."
Jack looked from one to the other and rolled his eyes. "Does everyone speak that damn language but me?"
Their haven came into view at last. Horace was waiting for them in the foreyard, his daughter at his side and a basket in his hand. "Caupona said you might need this. She is waiting for you all. Facis, here, will guide you. I will tend to your cart and horse." He cast sympathetic eyes on O'Neill, standing shakily on his own but looking very tired and battered. "It is a short walk, and an easy one. Facis, take the blanket." He handed the heavy basket to Daniel and shooed them down a shaded path that ran behind the inn.
The laurels loomed all around them, old growth, creating a cool tunnel in the trees. They walked slowly, in deference to Claudius' limping gait and Jack's painful one. Teal'c stood at O'Neill's side, a strong grip ready to hand, but the Colonel walked unassisted most of the way. True to Horace's word, the path was level and easy, and soon at an end.
A dappled green clearing opened before them. The stream they had been hearing wound from a large pond, over which hung willows and laurels in shady perfusion. Caupona had lit a small fire and laid down more blankets, hanging up a few to form a screen between two trees. The old woman beckoned them forward, relieving Daniel of the basket with an impatient gesture. "Come, come, bring your friend. He looks half dead, not that I'm too surprised, given what I've seen come down the hill, but no matter. No blushes now."
Jack looked at Daniel, who said, "She wants to check you over."
"This is the witch doctor?" Jack swayed slightly and Daniel put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "Are you nuts? She looks like my great-grandmother."
He turned to go back up the path and nearly ran into the little girl. "Avia is really very smart. I had a pain in my tummy once and she gave me some tea and made me feel better. The tea tasted icky, though."
Looking down at the tiny child, Jack seemed almost to deflate. Teal'c rumbled a translation and he acknowledged with a tired nod. "Ok. I give."
Caupona smiled and guided him behind the screen. Muffled curses, both in Latin and English, floated out intermittently. Daniel expected one of the two to call him for translator services, but they seemed to be communicating fairly well, in the universal language of Cranky.
Finally, the old woman came out and motioned to Daniel. "Your friend is much abused, but is in no danger from his hurts, though his side is damaged. He has had too much sun, and too much work and worry for too long. Take him to the pool and let the water cool him and hold him for a time. Then let him sleep. Feed him when he wakes and keep his wrists and shoulders covered. Time will heal the rest." She looked shrewdly up at the younger man. "You have not been drinking the tea I gave you, have you? I thought not. Your head aches and your eyes blur. Your stomach will not keep the food you give it, no? No. Lucky for you, I brought some. It is steeping now." She threw up her hands in disgust and disappeared behind the curtain once again.
In the stunned silence that followed the woman's barrage of words, Sam's snicker was clearly audible. "How much of that did you get, Sam?" Daniel looked over to the small fire she was tending.
"Oh, most of it. Come drink your tea." She held out a stoneware mug, full of the steaming straw-colored beverage. "There's honey if you want sweetener. I don't think they have cane sugar."
He took a sip of the astringent tisane and his eyes began to water. "Whew. How long has this been steeping?" The ache in his temples was easing, though. Digging through the basket, he found a wrapped bowl full of dripping honeycomb. Pouring a generous dollop into the cup, he took another sip. Better.
"Carter!" Jack's gravelly voice called from behind the curtain. Sam stood up from the fire, coming almost to attention.
"Yes, Sir? Do you need some help?"
"No! Well, yes, but.... Just close your eyes, Carter." An elderly chuckle was heard, and an answering growl as Carter turned. Her fair skin showed the blush very well, Daniel thought. "Daniel, get over here!"
He startled, gulped the rest of his tea in a hot gulp, and ran over to the curtain. Peeping behind it, he saw Jack lying on the ground. "Help me up, willya? My arms feel al dente."
"That's Italian, Jack, not Latin." Daniel pulled him up and wrapped one of the linen sheets around him. "Caupona wants you to take a little swim. You're overheated."
O'Neill looked at the pond, then back at Daniel. "I don't really feel up to a dip right now, Daniel. Maybe later."
"Come on, Jack. It's just what the witch doctor ordered." He pulled the slightly resistant Colonel to the water's edge. The water was cool, but not cold, and so clear he could see their shadows on the sandy bottom. Very reluctantly, Jack let Daniel pull him into the water, dropping the sheet when the level rose above his waist. Daniel pulled off his tunic as well, not liking the way it wrapped around his legs and tried to trip him as he waded.
He pulled Jack deeper, easing him into a floating position and holding his head securely above the water. The older man's legs had a bad habit of sinking; he was all muscle and sinew, and not very buoyant. "Just relax, Jack. Let the water hold you up."
"Feels good." The tension under Daniel's hands was slowly easing as Jack relaxed into the water's cooling embrace. He closed his eyes and vented a small sigh. Time and familiarity made their state of undress a non-issue. Jack seemed to be content to let Daniel hold him indefinitely in the soothing water. Daniel drew comfort from the contact, the solid reality of his best friend, and hoped that his presence was a comfort for Jack. It seemed to be; Jack's breathing was evening out and his face was relaxing from the pinched grimace it had held most of the day.
The clearing was quiet for a time. SG-1 was together again, and that was good. They were relatively unharmed, and that was also good. Daniel looked toward the bank to the pale and dark blobs that were Sam and Teal'c and felt complete again. His family was all around him and now it was time to go home.
"Daniel, I'm curious about something," Jack said softly, interrupting Daniel's reverie. He opened his eyes and looked up at his friend. "This isn't really Rome, circa 27Ad or so, right?"
"Not according to Claudius' scroll." Daniel scooped up some water and damped Jack's still warm head, pulling him into the shaded part of the pond. Jack's limbs trailed along, boneless.
"We're in our own time, on a planet that someone or someone's have set up as a kind of living history exhibit." His voice was getting stronger, Daniel was pleased to note.
"Right. I think. Or interactive museum." Jack's skin was starting to feel chilled. "Are you feeling better?"
"Much. Carter, cover your eyes again!" They waded back to dry land. Teal'c was waiting with their tunics, warm and smelling of woodsmoke from the fire. Jack groaned in pure sensual delight as the Jaffa helped him don the garment, easing the fabric over his shoulders and belting it loosely. "I've gone to heaven. You can open your eyes now, Carter."
"Hey!" Daniel yelped, and hastily dove into his shabby, but clean, slave's tunic. Sam did not giggle, but it was a near thing. Jack did grin, though, as Teal'c helped him sit down on the blankets near the fire. Sam handed the Colonel a bowl of warm, fragrant broth, then handed a second bowl to Daniel. "Thanks."
"So, to continue my question: Where did he come from?" Jack pointed at Claudius.
Daniel took a sip of the meaty broth, stalling. "I'm not really sure." At his nod, Teal'c moved over to the Roman and translated in a low murmur.
"Wait a sec, Teal'c. I'm not so sure we want to do that," Jack said. "He's a part of all this, and from what Carter was telling me, he's also a slave-owner, like Callas. Why are we assuming he's a good guy?"
"With all due respect, Sir," Sam said, "Claudius has been instrumental in our progress so far, and a good friend as well. He knows the area, the political climate, and has been more than willing to share information."
Daniel added, "Besides, he's the one who found you." He nodded reassuringly at Claudius, who was watching the untranslated conversation closely.
With a weak chop of his hand, Jack said, "He owns slaves, Daniel. Hell, he owned you and Carter for a while. I can't believe you're defending him. I'm surprised you're not up in arms to free all the slaves on this planet, for that matter." The water had cooled O'Neill's fever, but not his temper. The last several days had been hardest on him, both physically and emotionally. Daniel had been with Sam, and then Teal'c. Jack had been alone.
"I've been working on freeing the handful I know personally," Daniel said calmly. He sipped his broth and wished the ache in his head would go away completely. The tea helped but not quite enough. He couldn't quite make out Jack's expression in the waning light, but he was pretty sure it wasn't a smile. "If we have time, after we get to Ponza and find the gate, I'll find my magic wand and free everyone else. You're always trying to get me to prioritize, Jack. Don't be so surprised the lessons are sinking in."
There was a shocked silence from the rest of SG-1. Jack broke it, saying, "Did you bring your magic wand, this trip? I thought I saw it in your locker when we were gearing up."
"I am certain I saw it, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "DanielJackson, you must have misplaced it when you misplaced your corrective lenses."
Sam was on Daniel's side of the fire, so he could see her impish smile as she turned to contemplate him. "I've never seen you as the fairy godmother type, Daniel. Fairy godbrother, maybe."
"Fairy Godfather," he corrected, ducking his head and smiling. "I'm gonna grant you a wish that you cannot refuse."
He was rewarded by a surprised bark of laughter from Sam and a wincing protest from Jack.
"Oh! OW! Don't make me laugh." Jack held his side, cracking up and wincing. "That was the worst, absolute worst Brando impression I've ever heard."
Daniel grinned as the levity banished the remainder of the shadows from Jack's mood. "You should hear Teal'c's Han Solo."
Eyes streaming, clutching his bruised ribs, Jack looked expectantly at the stoic Jaffa. Sparing Daniel a pained look, Teal'c intoned, "Never quote me the odds."
This set them off again, leaving Claudius confused, but relaxed as the tension died away. "Is all well, Daniel?" he asked softly, under the laughter. Daniel nodded and finished his soup.
The sound of running footsteps brought the laughter to an abrupt end. The sun had almost set, leaving the path in shadows. Teal'c and Sam stood quickly and faced the pathway, their stances set and ready for a fight if need be. Jack scrambled to his feet, Daniel supporting him on one side and Claudius on the other. The Colonel looked at the Roman in surprise when he took his arm, but didn't shrug him off.
"It's me! Alvanus." The blacksmith's apprentice announced himself as he entered the clearing at a run. Lurching to a stop, he said, panting, "You must fly, now. Creopacis has gone to Callas to betray you. He knows you are no freeborn, Daniel, and that you meant to deceive your friend's owner to free him. Quickly, Horace has your cart and horses ready. I will tend to the fire. Go!"
"How'd he know..." Jack said, then shook his head and allowed himself to be hurried back down the dark path.
The stable yard was lit with the last of the sun's light, rose and gold painting the inn and reminding Daniel of his last glimpse of Palatine Hill. Horace was waiting for them once again, this time holding the harness of a paired team. The black mare and a dappled bay were harnessed to a cart, larger than they had arrived in, and partially covered. "This is not our cart, Horace." Teal'c pointed out.
"It is now. You have food and bedding, and your belongings are in the cart as well. Callas will find only delay here, but he will be quick to follow you. Please, you must hurry." The genial man was all business as Jack and Claudius were helped into the cart. "I am to tell you, from Caupona, that the red bottle is for you, Daniel, and the black and white is for your aged friend."
Daniel glanced at Jack and smothered a smile. Some things were not meant to be translated. "Thank her for us, Horace. We owe her much. For that matter, we owe you much." He scrambled into the cart, wincing a little as the abused muscles in his back were pulled. The cart was a generous gift, as was the additional horse needed to pull it. Hospitality was a virtue in the ancient world, and it was considered rude to question such things, despite the burning desire to know.
"You owe me nothing, freeman." Horace drew back his tunica sleeves to expose his forearms. His wrists were ringed with scars. "I have paid a debt today. I help you as one once helped me." He grinned then and stepped back as Sam and Teal'c clambered in. "Good journey to you, and to the lovely Amazon. You should make the crossroads with the Via Domitana by twilight tomorrow." He slapped the broad back of the black mare and waved them on their way.
The cart clattered over the flat paving stones of the Appia. The old soldier had settled in to sleep finally, Claudius was pleased to note. The pile of cushions under the tarp covered portion of the cart was currently being occupied by the Colonel, as Sam called him, and by the Nubian, Teal'c. A full moon shone down on them, lighting the way for their flight once again.
An hour south of the inn, Daniel had pulled the horses to a stop and asked Claudius if he wanted to continue on this journey. "You are putting your life and reputation in jeopardy by coming with us. Maybe you should go back to Rome."
Claudius had no desire to part company with them and said so. "My reputation, wha-at there is of it, is of little v-value to me. I am kn-known to be a half-wit; perhaps my f-family will simply ascribe my behavior to that. I am not concerned. Besides," he added, "how often do I get adventures?"
Daniel had nodded, conceding the point. "We welcome your company, Claudius. I was just worried for you." That had felt good. No one had really worried for him since Postumus. Certainly, no one in his family.
Now, the boy was squinting again, trying to keep the cart in a straight line and the horses at a brisk pace. "Let me drive, Daniel," Claudius offered.
"I'm fine."
"You're s-squinting, and the way you're driving is f-frightening the horses. I know your head aches from the b-blacksmith's b-blow, and your eyes are bad in this light." Daniel looked almost convinced. Claudius added, "Your d-d-dark friend is asleep, Sam is almost asleep, and your C-Colonel looks like a Greek tragedy. For once, I am the m-most fit person in the group. Let me enjoy it!" Daniel laughed, a quiet huff of humor, then he nodded. "Drink some of C-Caupona's brew and get some rest." Claudius put his hand over the reins and pulled the horses to a gentle stop. "G-Go on, now. I know you have slept little in your w-worry for J-Jack." He climbed onto the bench and waited while Daniel made up his mind and clambered into the back.
With a click of his tongue and a tap on the reins, the cart was going again. The clink of stoneware behind him told Claudius that Daniel was looking for the well-wrapped amphorae that Caupona had packed. With a small triumphant cry, Daniel found it and took a long swallow of the tea, then sealed it again and returned it to it's nesting cocoon of blankets. "Wake me when the moon goes down, Claudius. Or wake Sam."
When he looked back over his shoulder, much later, Claudius saw a pile of sleeping bodies, jumbled together like puppies. Sam was curled into a loose ball, with Daniel's arm thrown over her waist and her head resting on the Colonel's outflung arm. They were all deeply asleep, not shifting in their exhausted slumber. All but one.
The dark warrior was sitting upright, his back braced against the sway of the cart. He did not appear to be asleep; his breathing was too deliberate for slumber. Curious. Despite his relaxed posture and closed eyes, he almost seemed to be keeping guard over his friends. Returning his attention to the road, Claudius decided to ask Sam later.
The road was quiet in the deep night. No other travelers were abroad at this hour. The moon sailed across the night sky, lending a silver tint to the scudding clouds and turning the gray paving stones over which they rode into a wonder and a king's ransom.
The palace would be quiet at this hour, he reflected, except for the nocturnal scuttle of assignations and slaves on errands. The cooks would be up in an hour or so to begin the day's baking. Herod would be staggering back to his apartments about now, grinning and smelling of wine and cheap women. Claudius smiled, thinking of his lifelong friend. He wondered what Herod Agrippa would think of his adventure up to now. Freeing slaves, lying to free another slave, fleeing across country in the dead of night with no idea what his final destination might be. Come to think of it, Herod would probably be having a wonderful time.
Dawn crept up slowly, with still no sign of pursuit. The Via Appia was the oldest road in the Empire, and had, in the Great Augustus' day, been lengthened to the south and east to meet with the port at Brindisium. It wound through mountains and swamps, over hills and valleys, through town and farmland. By the markers, they had traveled about half-way between Roma and Terracina, on the coast. The hills were becoming steeper, with the Lepini range to the east and the sea to the distant west. Unless Daniel wanted to detour at the crossroads at Arpinum, they would reach the port city in two days. Ponza was a short boat ride beyond that, if the winds would cooperate.
The trees were giving way to grassy hills that sloped to the coast. A cool breeze blew off of the mountain range, and Claudius pulled his woolen traveling cloak from under the seat and shrugged it on. It would be warm soon enough, but now the cloak was welcome.
The world was waking up, though his charges slept on behind him, and he stopped at an enterprising farmer's roadside stand to purchase some eggs and fresh bread. Claudius asked, very casually, about unusual traffic along the Appia, but the farmer denied seeing anything strange. No troops, for example, nor Imperial guard. Satisfied, Claudius drove on.
The horses were showing signs of fatigue, though, and Claudius was feeling tired and hungry himself. He began looking for a good place for a rest stop, and was delighted to see a bridge in the distance. Bridges meant water, and the horses needed that as much as a rest.
The stone bridge crossed a merry brook, full with melt water from the mountains. Claudius crossed it and pulled off the road. There was a beaten down area where others had obviously made similar stops. While the four slept in the cart, Claudius built up a small fire, led the horses to drink and picketed them where they could forage. This done, he returned to the fire and set the fresh eggs to roast in the coals. He nibbled on some of the bread while he waited, listening to the water's babble and enjoying the peace.
"Oh!" Sam's startled voice drew his attention to the cart. She was sitting up, a confused expression on her face, her short blonde hair sticking up like dandelion fuzz. "We've stopped." She looked around until she saw Claudius, and her face broke into a sleepy smile. "Morning."
"Morning, Sam. F-Food soon."
Gracefully, the woman picked her way through her sleeping companions and climbed out of the cart. With an embarrassed look, she made a break for some bushes, downstream Claudius was glad to see. After some minutes, she returned and sat by the fire. He handed her a hunk of the fresh bread, which she wolfed down with a very un-matronly haste. "That's good! Bene!"
He understood more English than he could speak at this point, and she more Latin. A question had been plaguing Claudius for some time, and he did not want to filter it through either the young man or the warrior. Now seemed the right time to try to ask. In careful English, he said, "Sam. A question?"
"Yes?" She reached into the food bag and took out an apple.
"Daniel is j-joined with you?" He mimed putting his hands together, as in a marriage ceremony.
"Joined? He's my friend." She was confused
"I d-do not understand word. Friend?" Claudius dug one of the roasted eggs from the coals with a stick and rolled it into the grass to cool. "Daniel talk to C-C-Caligula, soror, you." Sam looked puzzled at the unfamiliar word. "Frater, soror." The rest of the eggs joined the first, steaming in the cool air.
Confusion was followed by understanding. "Sister. Soror is sister. No, I'm not Daniel's sister. Friend is," she paused, thinking. "Companion. Someone you trust. Someone you like, or love, but not like a husband or lover."
"Amicus." Daniel's sleepy voice drifted out of the cart. There was a thump, and the cart shifted on its wheels. Much grumbling followed, most of which was unintelligible. Sam was smiling and blushing, though Claudius did not understand why. "And agape. The love of a friend is agape."
"T-That's Greek." Claudius pointed out.
"I know. Why have we stopped?"
"Horses needed a rest, and so did Claudius," Sam replied. Claudius tended the fire and let the conversation go on around him. The more English he heard, he reasoned, the more he would understand, even if it remained untranslated. "I also want a bath. You and the Colonel had your little dip yesterday; I want my turn. I smell."
"Well, I didn't want to say anything." He ducked down into the wagon, avoiding the hurled hunk of bread by a hair's breadth. A grunt and muttered exclamation from the Colonel told them where the missile had landed. "Morning, Jack. Sam's delivering breakfast in bed."
"Mmph...I ordered a Western Omelet."
"We are not in beds, DanielJackson."
The three men clambered out, amid much groaning and stretching, and were all soon sitting down to breakfast while Sam had her bath. The dark warrior, Teal'c, translated everything that had been said for Claudius' benefit, which left the Roman understanding only a little more than he had prior to the explanation. That set the pattern, with the Colonel's tacit permission; either Daniel or Teal'c would translate for Claudius and O'Neill, unless asked not to.
"So, Sam is married to none of you. Nor is she related to any of you." He did not miss the amused looks that passed between O'Neill and Daniel.
"That is correct, TiberiusClaudiusDrus...."
Jack made a noise and held up a bandaged hand. "Aah! Don't even start, Teal'c. You've been calling him Claudius all along and you can just keep right on doing it." Teal'c raised an eyebrow, but did not comment further apart from a regal nod of his head.
Daniel's mouth was twitching and his eyes danced as he murmured Latin in Claudius' ear. "He still calls me DanielJackson," the young man added. "Why do you ask?"
"Not for the reasons you're thinking. I'm m-m-arried." He tossed an egg to Daniel. "I'm just c-curious about your people."
Sam rejoined them at the fire, her wet hair slicked back, and clothed in the pale blue tunic she had worn since leaving the palace. "I wish I had something to change into. This is getting kinda old."
Remembering what Horace had said about provisions, Claudius climbed to his feet and limped to the cart. After rummaging for a few minutes he found a matron's green tunic and stola, tied into a loose bundle by a green and gold brocade belt. The woman's eyes lit up when she saw the silk bundle. "Where did you.... It's lovely, Claudius." She gave him a quick hug, much to his surprise, and darted to the other side of the cart to change.
"We were t-too recognizable as we were." Claudius said, his ears warm from the woman's enthusiastic embrace. "Now we are a small household. N-No one will question."
"Damn, that man can snore. Think it has anything to do with the stammer?" The Colonel leaned against the side of the cart, bracing his legs against the gently rocking sway. Claudius was sprawled across the cushions under the tarp, his twitching limbs limp in sleep.
There was something sweet about him, Sam decided, looking down at him. Despite the snoring, which was, she had to admit, quite loud. "He drove all night, Sir. I can put up with a little snoring." It was getting hot. She slipped the stola off and rolled up the tunica's sleeves, wishing for BDU's or at least a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
"This isn't a little snoring, Carter. This is a full-scale assault. I've been in firefights that were quieter than his snoring, for crying out loud. Can't you get him to turn on his side, or something?" He nudged the sleeping man with his foot, but could not make him turn, then gave up. He leaned his head back tiredly and closed his eyes. "Whatever."
Several hours of sleep had not banished her CO's fatigue completely, she realized. Normally, the Colonel could be counted upon for several more volleys, or at least a better quality of sarcasm. "Sorry, Sir. Nothing I can do." The stress was wearing on them all. They needed to get home.
Traffic was picking up around them, wagons and horses competing with hand drawn carts and foot travelers for possession of the roadway. They had been passed by runners several times, carrying messages to and from the towns along the path, but had not seen signs of anyone looking for or inquiring about them. Sam thought Horace had probably sent Callas on a snipe hunt back to Rome; that's what she would have done in his place.
She nudged Claudius again; he rolled over and quieted. "Magic touch, Sir." She grinned at O'Neill's sarcastic smirk.
"Is Daniel asleep?" the Colonel asked her in a near whisper. Daniel was laying under the tarp alongside Claudius, seemingly oblivious to everything.
Not so oblivious. "Daniel is awake. Daniel is just resting his eyes. What does Jack want?" The anthropologist sat up, rubbing his face and squinting at the Colonel.
"Jack wants to know what the plan is." He was trying to tone down the sarcasm, but it was an effort. "Where are we headed, Daniel? I heard someone say Pond scum?"
"Ponza. It's an island off the east coast of the Lazio region of Italy, where we are now." Daniel crawled out from under the tarp and began rooting around for the bottles of tea the old woman had given them.
"I thought we weren't in Italy, or on Earth. I thought this was an amusement park, albeit not a very amusing one." The Colonel was picking at the bandages circling his wrists again, wincing and not meeting anyone's eyes. Sam frowned at the scabs on his palms; at least nothing had looked infected the last time he had allowed her to change his dressings.
Finding the bottle, Daniel took a long swallow, grimacing at the taste. "Have you had your dose, Jack? The black and white one is yours. I think it's a pain-killer of some kind."
"Yeah, yeah. Time to connect the dots, Danny. Report."
"Okay." No rummaging this time; Daniel knew right where the maps were. Good thing, too, since they were SG-1's only way home. He unrolled them, holding first one, then the other close to his face, then spread them out on the floor of the cart. "We are not on Earth. Near as I can tell, we have been immersed in a live action role-playing scenario that encompasses the lives of the players. This map shows an exact replica of Italy, down to the islands off of the coast but, as you can see, it is not attached to the Europe that we know." He pointed out a very different coastline, though the Mediterranean Sea looked about like Sam remembered it.
"It's Italy, but not really. Got it. Go on."
Daniel pulled out Claudius' scroll and handed it to the Colonel. "The caption at the top says 'Welcome to Rome.' It's written in a derivative of Latin and Etruscan that was in use several hundred years ago, Claudius' time. Apparently, the park owners, for want of a better term, have a way of diverting the Stargate system temporally. They've gone through history, according to this, and plucked up famous and not so famous people at the point of death and brought them here." O'Neill handed the scroll back after giving it a cursory looking over.
"They temporarily divert the 'Gate?"
Sam piped up. "Temporally, Sir. They move in time, as well as in space. But I don't see how that's possible, Daniel." The scientist in her rebelled at the very idea of time travel, never mind that they had done it themselves not so very long ago. "The only way we know of is based almost entirely on chance."
Jackson waved at her impatiently. "I know, and I don't understand it either, but that's what it says, the best I can make out. And the main complex is on Ponza." He pointed to a small island midway down the peninsula. "That's where we find our way home. There's a 'Gate there." He held the scroll close to his eyes again. "In the grotto beneath the city, you will find the Chapp'ai. We hope you will enjoy your stay." Daniel rolled up the scroll and rubbed his eyes. The sun was just past noon and the light must have been bothering him.
It did not escape the Colonel's notice. In a quiet voice, he asked, "You doin' okay, Daniel?"
"Oh, yeah. Just a little eyestrain, Jack. Nothing to worry about." He pushed absently at the bridge of his nose. "Have you seen the amphorae Caupona sent with us? They are amazing examples of late period pottery and design."
"Don't change the subject. What's with the squint and where'd you and Carter come up with those lovely bruises?"
Placing her hand to the faded, yellowing bruise on her cheek, Sam said wryly, "Probably the same way you got yours, Sir. Not doing what we were told." Daniel flashed her a quick, grateful look for taking some of the weight of O'Neill's scrutiny.
The Colonel laughed at that. "That's my team. If you can't beat the devil, spit in his eye." His voice was light, but something in his look told Sam he wasn't buying it for a second. Still, he didn't push.
They stopped twice more to water and rest the horses. Traffic around them varied with their proximity to towns; sometimes there was a great deal of traffic, both foot and cart. Other times, they were alone on the road. At no time, however, did they see signs of their pursuers. Well, it was about time for their luck to change for the better, not that Sam believed in such things.
Traffic began to pick up again as the sun went down. "We must be near the crossroads," Daniel said. He shook Claudius awake gently.
They heard the crossroads before they saw it. Music and the sounds of many conversations at once heralded the place, a lively village that had grown around the meeting of the Via Appia and the Via Domitana. They crested a hill and saw the place, lit with cooking fires and the setting sun.
Unlike most villages of its kind, this one was unwalled. The Appia ran into if from the North, while the Domitana ran from east to west. There were few houses lining the roads, except at the town center; most of the population seemed to be transient judging by the number of carts and wagons dotting the landscape. Tents of various colors and sizes flapped in the night breeze, and the tantalizing smell of cooked meats wafted toward the travelers as they made their way down the hill. Sam's stomach rumbled in response.
"Hungry, Sam?" Claudius asked with a yawn.
She shrugged on her stola against the cooling air. "I've had nothing but bread, cheese, and fruit for the last three days. A steak would look great about now."
"I'll second that," the Colonel said.
As they rolled through the campground, they noted several open cook fires where food could be purchased. At the Colonel's order, Sam and Daniel went to get food while he and Teal'c set up a quick camp. The plan was to rest for a few hours, then drive the rest of the night, just in case they were still being followed. Claudius was to go after provisions separately and keep his ears open for gossip.
They wandered through the campgrounds, Daniel trailing a little behind Sam. The village was nestled at the base of a tall hill, or a short mountain depending on your point of view. Scrubby laurels vied with old growth willows and oak trees to the north, giving way to the beginnings of coastal grasslands to the south. It was in these grasslands that the village sat, rambling along the two roadways that intersected at the town center. It seemed, as they moved through it, that the whole purpose of the village was to serve the needs of the transient wagon trade, and travelers of other types, that met up at these crossroads. Looking about with interest, Daniel said, "This really is fascinating, from an anthropological point of view."
A toothless woman was selling flatbread and seasoned meat and onions; Sam bought several and stowed them in a bag. "Gratia, matris." The woman smiled and patted Sam's hand as she took the money. "What's fascinating, Daniel?" She handed him the bag; he took it absently, trying to see everything at once in the dimming light.
"This culture. We're immersed in an ancient civilization that we've only been able to speculate about before. We have the literature of the day; Livy and Seutonius' 'De Vita Caesarum.' And the poets, of course. But extrapolating a culture from its literature is like...like the blind men describing the elephant."
She thought she understood. "If someone in the future were to stumble across, say, The Hobbit, or some right wing conservative's latest rant-book, they might get some very interesting ideas about the 20th century."
"Exactly. I almost wish we had more time here, to study the less well-documented aspects of Roman society."
A group of young women were circulating among the camping travelers. Every now and then one would break away from the gaggle and disappear with a smiling man, or men, into a tent. "I think an aspect of Roman society wants to study you, Daniel." The women were drifting closer, looking at her friend with libidinous eyes, if she was not mistaken.
"Hmm? What?" She pointed out the giggling gaggle and thought he blushed, though it was hard to tell in the firelight. "I don't think they're interested in me, Sam. In this tunic, with you dressed like that, they have to think I'm your," he groped for a word, "property."
She turned a horrified look on him. "What? Why didn't you say something?" She plucked the bag from his grasp and pulled him back toward camp, glaring at the girls.
"It's not important, Sam. We know what the truth is." He let himself be pulled along though, looking back at the pouting prostitutes with a thoughtful eye.
"It's damn well important to me, Daniel. Claudius has got to have something else for you to wear." They made it back to the wagon without incident and Sam handed off the tucker-sack to the Colonel.
"Gyros, Sir, or the local equivalent."
He took an appreciative sniff. "Smells good. Well done, Major. Pull up some ground and let's eat." He reached into the bag with stiff fingers and pulled out a greasy cloth bundle that really did smell like heaven. Passing the bag, he unwrapped the bundle and took a bite. The first moment of chewing was tentative, but then a look of pleased surprise filled the Colonel's face. "Oh, yeah. Much better than MRE's. You shop from now on, Carter." He finished the first sandwich quickly and reached for another.
"Yes, Sir. Daniel, why don't you see if there's something you can wear in the cart." She fished a sandwich out and glared at him as he ignored her and sat down by the fire.
Snagging the bag from her hand, he said, "Sam, if our little 'household', as Claudius put it, didn't have at least one servant, we'd draw attention to ourselves. Look around you."
Wondering what she was supposed to see, Sam let her eyes wander over the campground's chaotic jumble of tents and people. A pattern began to emerge as she analyzed the campers. Most of their fellow travelers were obviously tradesmen and their families. Even these, though, had one or two people who seemed to be doing most of the physical work. The more well-off travelers had five or six. Somehow, even being immersed in the market, back in Rome, had not brought the reality of their situation home to her as much as seeing the blind acceptance of servitude among the common people.
She looked back at Daniel glumly. "You're right. We'd be noted. I hadn't realized slavery was so pervasive." Up until now, even during that humiliating auction, their position and condition had not seemed real to her. When she had been traded to that warlord, on the third, no fourth mission through the Stargate, she had always known she could walk away. The only thing stopping her at that time was concern for the other women.
Here, there would have been no rescue, had Claudius not believed Daniel that second night and decided to accompany them. They would have been stuck at the palace forever, unless they had managed to escape, and then what? As fugitive slaves, they would have had little hope for a long life.
She realized now what an amazing step Claudius had taken in throwing in his lot with SG-1. His entire worldview had been toppled in the space of an hour, yet he had risen to every challenge this journey had asked of him. She got the feeling there was a lot hidden by his amiable façade, stammer, and rambling ways.
Wiping his mouth, the Colonel said, "You take a lot of convincing, Major." He grinned toothily and looked up at that alien moon. "Claude has been gone too long. Daniel, you and Teal'c go look for him."
"Maybe he got waylaid by those camp followers," Daniel opined. He folded the cloth in which his gyro had been wrapped and tucked it back into the bag.
The Colonel looked intrigued. "Camp followers? Are we talking ladies of easy virtue, here?" He wiggled his eyebrows at Teal'c, who did not react.
"I believe DanielJackson is referring to the prostitutes circulating through the camp, O'Neill. TiberiusClau..." Jack glared and the Jaffa amended his words, "Claudius does not seem to be one who would partake of such pleasures during a time of crisis."
"No, you're right. He did have a mistress named Calpurnia, if I'm remembering correctly, but I don't think he'd be looking for companionship right now." Daniel was starting to look worried. "Come on, Teal'c. Let's see what we can find out."
The men disappeared amidst the tents, taking divergent paths to quarter the camp. Once they were out of earshot, the Colonel fixed Sam with a commanding look and said. "Okay, Major. Report. And I mean it, this time." He crossed his legs and leaned forward, the fire picking out the silver glints in his hair as golden.
"Sir? Daniel apprised us of the situation this afternoon." She swallowed the last of her gyro with a mouth gone dry. It was nothing she was trying to hide, nothing shameful, but she did not want to worry the Colonel for no reason. What was done was done.
"Daniel's eyes. Your face. I want a report on the physical and emotional well-being of my team, Carter." His voice was soft, but implacable.
She rubbed her cheek absently. "We're fine, Sir. Coping. Daniel's eyes have been bothering him since we woke up in that clearing without our gear and most of our clothes. He says the longer he's without his glasses, the more tired his eyes get. The more tired, the more blurry; it's a cycle."
The Colonel grimaced, then nodded. "I understand. And the headaches?"
"Partly the same thing, as far as I can tell. The morning we retrieved you, though, there was an altercation at the inn. The blacksmith, Creopacis, accused Claudius of underpaying for a repair on our cart and was being physically threatening. Daniel tried to intervene and, um," she hesitated.
"Collected a sock in the jaw for his trouble?" the Colonel supplied.
She nodded. "Exactly, Sir. It knocked him out for a few minutes. Ever since, his headaches and, I believe, his vision has been worse. He seems to be recovering, though. The old woman said he would, in time."
"Caupona's tea must be some kind of anti-inflammatory. He's been running around all over the countryside with a concussion and never said a word." The Colonel looked up at the stars with an aggrieved expression, communicating his opinion of civilians in general and Daniel in specific to the deaf gods. "Wish Janet was here. If you tell her I said that, I'll deny it." He managed a weak smile, and looked off into the darkness in the direction Daniel had taken. Probably regretting sending him off to look for Claudius, Sam realized.
"I was wishing for her myself when we found you, Sir. We're all recovering."
He looked at her again, his dark eyes in shadow as he built up the fire. "And what are you recovering from, Major?" he asked softly.
"An ill-advised defiance, Sir," she said with a grimace. His face demanded explanations. "After the auction, the steward who purchased me...got frisky." He'd been all hands and leers; she could still feel his clammy fingers on her skin, despite the earlier bath. "I kneed him in the groin to discourage him and collected a sock in the jaw for my trouble." Along with a few other blows, but those didn't show and were none of the Colonel's business. She did not add that the smarmy asshole had refused to give her anything to wear for hours, until they got back to the palace and the kitchen matron had shoved a bundle of blue fabric into her hands.
She'd worn that tunic until Claudius had given her the silk one this afternoon. With a shudder, she ran her hands along the slightly bumpy fabric, and was thankful.
The Colonel's face was clearly readable in the dim light. He was furious. "I'm fine, Sir," she hastened to reassure him. "Nothing untoward has happened to any of us." Except maybe you, Jack, she did not say. Oh, hell, yes she would. "Sir, Daniel said you had killed a man at the vineyard. May I ask why?"
His fury fled, replaced by surprise. "Whoa! Good redirect, Major. You've been taking lessons from Danny." Throwing a stick at the fire, he blew out a breath and said, "It was an accident. My keeper, steward, whatever, was getting frisky." He nodded at her, taking her words. "I wasn't in a position to defend myself well, so I kicked him. He fell and broke his neck. End of story." More sticks were hurled into the fire, raising a swarm of sparks.
The fury was not banked down completely, she realized, and she did not want to raise any demons with questions. There was at least as much untold in the Colonel's story as had been in hers, but it was not her place to go digging. Maybe Daniel would get him to open up, if he needed to. Daniel was good at that.
Between the bright blobs that were cookfires, and the shifting blobs that were people, Daniel was feeling a little dizzy. This was getting old, fast. The whole searching thing, this whole insane week, would be much easier if he could see clearly. Still, he reflected, it was better than it had been this afternoon. The sun's glare had forced him under the tarp for several hours, trying to rest his eyes. He had not been able to see much of anything. Twilight seemed to be his best time.
He was also beginning to wish he'd taken Sam's advice and changed into some other clothes. He was, evidently, just shabby enough to be taken for a slave by any who saw him. His bare feet did not help matters; even the poorest freeborn had at least one pair of sandals to his name. Thus far he'd had a variety of responses to his questioning, most of them derisive and patronizing. The group of drinking teamsters before him looked no more promising than anyone else, but no less so either. Taking a deep breath and pasting a pleasant expression on his face, he approached the group and said, "Excuse me. I'm looking for a man, about my height, with a limp. He's..."
One of men rose and said sharply, "Go away, boy. You are not welcome here. You've been bothering a lot of people. No one has seen your master, if that's who he is." A hard hand came out of nowhere and pushed Daniel backward. "Take yourself back to wherever you came from and leave us alone!"
Clenching his fists in frustration, Daniel restrained himself. He nodded tersely and turned to go. That same hard hand stopped him, whirling him abruptly back to face his new friend. "Is that how you take leave of your betters, boy? You have no manners." The man grinned evilly, looking over his shoulder at his laughing friends and sharing their humor.
Turning back to Daniel, he said, "Perhaps you need someone to teach you, boy. What do you say?" The man had huge hands, rough and strong from wrestling his horses and their load along the uneven roads. Daniel could feel the bruise starting already, but he could not wrench his arm out of that grip.
Controlling his flinch, Daniel said, "You really shouldn't try to teach a subject you're not familiar with, Sir. And I've been hanging around Jack way too much." Not so far gone in drink as to miss the insult, the man scowled and drew back his free hand, gripping Daniel's arm tighter.
"Speciosus, there you are!" A high feminine trill shattered the tableau and the man's grip eased a fraction. Daniel took the opportunity and wrenched his aching arm free. A fluttering, sweet smelling figure gathered him into soft arms, scolding. "I told you never to wander off in camp, sweet. You never know what type of ruffian you'll run into." She winked at the burly man and gave a shimmy Daniel could feel through her layers of gauze and silk, promising nothing and everything all at once. Unbelievably, the carter seemed to melt, returning to his cronies with a laugh and a wave. She fluttered her fingers and drew Daniel away, latching herself on to his sore arm with a murmured, "Play along."
"Huh? Oh. Sorry, Mistress. I got lost."
"Silly boy!" She scolded him roundly and drew him away from the carters, weaving through the campground and pulling him after her.
Once out of earshot, he stopped her and said, "Thank you, Lady, but I need to...."
The woman looked up at him and his heart stopped. Her face was a blur, but he could see dark eyes, a broad forehead, and black strands of thick, wavy hair escaping from her red veil. Her lips would taste like summer berries and the yeasty flatbread he had never learned to make properly.
He realized she was speaking, and had been for some moments, but his brain couldn't translate her speech into English and he realized with a sharp sadness that he'd stopped thinking in Abydonian, had stopped dreaming in the language of his wife some months ago. He listened harder, desperate to understand, and then heard the Latin, through the muddle of languages in his head.
Daniel bent and drew his face close to hers, trying to force his aching eyes to focus. After an eternity, he was moderately successful and a strange woman looked back at him with a fearful expression on her blurred face.
Well, he reflected, she had every right to be apprehensive. Feeling foolish, he assumed what he hoped was a reassuring expression and said, "Forgive me, Lady. You remind me of someone I once knew."
Desperately looking anywhere but at the woman who was not Sha're, he noted with surprise that the campground was a distance behind them. They stood a few yards from a small stand of tall weeping willows, lit fascinatingly from beneath by a campfire under the trailing boughs. He could make out no details, but saw moving shapes in the fey light.
Drawing his attention back, the woman said, "Was she very beautiful?"
The bittersweet memory must have shown on his face, even in the dim light. "Very, Lady." His guide smiled up at him, thinking he had turned her a compliment. "Um, Lady? Where are we going?"
"To your friend, little one. He is waiting for you." Too late, alarm bells began jangling in Daniel's head, and he pulled away from the woman. "It is not much further."
"What is wrong with him, that he cannot come to us?" Daniel asked.
The flickering light under the trees spawned another shape. It, he, called to Daniel. "Your friend is injured. He needs help. Come this way!"
"Ah, no. I don't think so." He turned and bolted back towards the campground, the woman's clutching grab slipping over his arm without gaining a grip. A muffled curse and pounding footsteps spurred him faster. "Jack!" Too far away, too much noise from the campground, too late. "Jack!" Too dark. The ground was uneven under his bare feet and he stumbled, staggered, and ran on, limping.
Pain at his throat as he was jerked to a sudden stop by handful of fabric. Too slow. He pulled away with a rip of cloth, only to be brought down a few steps later in a rolling tangle. Daniel found himself face down on the ground, a heavy weight on his back. "Give me the rope, woman!" The man's cracked voice ground out. Alarmed, Daniel bucked, but couldn't shake his captor. He drew his arms in, underneath his body, and locked his hands together.
A dark voice, cold and evil, oozed into his ears. "I'll dislocate those shoulders, servi." Daniel gasped as the man's big hands fastened to his bruised upper arm and shoulder and began applying pressure. The pain built quickly, inexorably, hard fingers digging behind the socket of his shoulder with practiced brutality.
The last thing Daniel wanted to do was lose the use of his hands, but it felt like it was going to happen one way or another. "All right! Enough!" He released his grip and squirmed until his arms were free.
The man laughed as he wrenched Daniel's hands back and tied them. "Weak. Pathetic. Just like your brother. Come on, dog, get up."
"My...who? Ow!" Wrenched to his feet, Daniel was sent stumbling back toward the trees, away from camp. The ground was no more even on the return trip, and the spiteful, prodding shoves from behind did little for Daniel's balance. His ankle was wrenched more than once on the journey back, and he was limping worse than Claudius by the time they reached the willows.
The woman had spoken this much truth: Claudius was waiting for them in the trees. He was huddled at the base of one of the willows, gagged and tied hand and foot. "Claudius! Are you well?" Daniel could not see any injuries in the flickering light, but he seemed to be unharmed.
"Your twitching friend is just fine, dog." The man shoved Daniel to the ground next to the Roman and pulled Claudius to his feet. "Fetch the old soldier to me, old fool. And be quick, or this young fool will suffer for it." He cut the bindings on Claudius' feet.
His eyes wide over the gag, Claudius looked down at Daniel in concern. "I'm fine. Tell Jack... trap. Ita?" Claudius nodded, understanding, and took off toward camp in a rolling lope that had their captor laughing.
"Look at the camel run! Merciless gods, what a waste that man is. Why did his family not expose him at birth?" The man crouched next to Daniel. "Between the limp and the twitch, I'd have smothered the brat before he learned to talk." He took a second rope and set about tying Daniel's ankles. Better and better.
"I'll just bet you would." The woman had taken off her red veils and was building up the fading fire. Tiny flames cast dancing shadows and ruined what was left of Daniel's night vision until the fire caught anew. Then the clearing took form for him, though it remained fuzzy and out of focus. The old growth willows formed an arch over their heads, high enough that there was no fear from the fire. Two horses stomped and shifted at one side of the clearing, reeking of old sweat; other than the horses, they were alone under the masking trees.
Desperate for information, Daniel turned his attention to his captors. The man was huge, as big as Teal'c, with the rich, olive complexion and dark eyes of most Italians. His long, black hair was pulled back into a tight rope, and his tunic was clean, if wrinkled, homespun. The woman was dressed the part of a courtesan, in silks and veils that reveled more than they hid. She was careful to keep her eyes to herself, he noted. Both of them were young, no older than twenty-five at a guess, though Daniel's eyes weren't up to many more details than that.
Noting Daniel's scrutiny, the man sneered at him and said, "You do not know me? Did your brother not speak fondly of me, servi? I am Hastatus, brother of Harundo, whom your brother slew two nights since." He stood again, drawing Daniel up with him with effortless strength. "My woman, Vispilia, I believe you have met."
Without warning, he slammed Daniel against the willow's trunk and let him fall, his breath knocked from him. Vaguely, through ringing ears, he heard the man order Vispilia to fetch the magistrate. She scurried into the night, looking sadly over her shoulder at the panting man on the ground.
Daniel wondered if his shoulders were dislocated after all. The pain was terrible, and his back muscles cramped and spasmed in protest. He made no move to rise, concentrating on regaining his breath before something else happened. The pain eased after a few moments, and Daniel rolled into an awkward sitting position, the tree behind him, its stout trunk partially supporting him as he took deep, sweet breaths.
With breath, returned the ability to think. Daniel twisted his hands in the ropes, glaring up at his captor in recognition. This man was Jack's tormentor from the vineyard. The man who had been smothering O'Neill, who had beaten and starved him.
Oblivious to the fury in his captive's eyes, Hastatus grabbed up a bag in one fist and a handful of willow branches in the other. He stooped and said, conversationally, "Keep your eyes off of her, dog, or I'll pluck them out. I saw you talking to her, saw how you wanted her. You won't be wanting any woman for a long time once we are done here, nor, I think, will any want you. Pray your brother comes soon, servi."
Daniel pushed himself back against the tree trunk, and said, "I'm no slave. And Jack isn't my brother."
Pausing his menacing advance, Hastatus looked down at Daniel thoughtfully. "You lie," he decided at last. "I saw your care for him, at the vineyard. You gave him your tunica and bathed his wounds. You spoke for him to Callas, though you lied when you said you were both freeborn. The blacksmith saw you arrive, the slaves of that twitching fool, you and your blonde bitch sister. The old soldier is your brother; your brother of the heart, if nothing else. As Harundo was mine."
With no warning, Hastatus forced the foul smelling sack over Daniel's head and tied it around his neck. The world was muffled, now, but he heard the swish just before fiery lines blazed across his bare arms. He rolled with a yelp and drew his legs up, turning turtle. "Wait! Stop!"
"Your brother had no mercy for Harundo. I shall have none for you." The improvised whip fell again, laying fire across Daniel's legs, his feet. "Harundo was all I had in the world." Again, across his arms, his back. "This is justice." Then there was no further speech, just pain.
Daniel tried pleading, tried reason, stammering into the close and humid sack. Tiring quickly of this, Hastatus gagged him by shoving some of the coarse material into his mouth and tying it off with another length of rope. He took a moment to finish ripping Daniel's tunica down the back, ridding him of that bit of protection. The bunched fabric hung from his tied wrists, tangling his hands.
The sack, the gag, and the throbbing pain in his head combined to steal his breath away as Hastatus resumed his "justice"; Daniel had not the air or the energy to roll away from the unseen blows. He curled into a ball the best he could, and bit down on the gag, and endured. Air came in quick, panicked gasps, and left in muffled shouts of pain and outrage. Claudius had been gone for hours, days, by now. Jack will come soon. Jack, come soon.
On to part 2...
Chapter or Story | Category: | General |
| Genres: | Hurt/Comfort |
| Rated: | Mature |
| Warnings: | Adult Themes, Non-Consensual Sex Acts |
| Series: | None |
| Summary: | Strangers in a strange land, just trying to get home with a little help from a friend. |
Author's Chapter Notes:
Attempted rape (a very short scene); Lots of Jack-whumping; lesser amounts of Daniel, Sam, and Teal'c Whumping. Language, nudity. Disturbing imagery of a religious nature. Abuse of Latin.