He was so thirsty, his back hurt, it was damned cold and the shackles dug into his wrists and ankles. He staggered along after the cart that held Carter and was taking them to their new country home. He was trying to think positive here. Okay so they had just been sold as farm slave labor and they were not the first couple picked. If the truth be told they were the last. He thought it might have something to do with his grey hair and maybe the black eye and split lip. Carter with her blond hair, five foot nine frame and beautiful blue eyes attracted prospective purchaser but when they saw O'Neill, the rest of the package deal, they usually backed off. The young, fertile and compliant couple sold first and O'Neill and Carter were the bargain at the end of the day. They all had been caged in the sun for most of the day and he had had neither food nor water. All the others had their shackles removed and had their wrists bound loosely with leather straps. O'Neill, however, was bound hand and foot with heavy metal chains and when finally sold, the chains were part of the purchase price. So there he was, following the cart that held Carter, chained so low to the back of the cart that he could not stand up straight and so dehydrated that just putting one foot in front of the other was now becoming an almost insurmountable task. Before they left Carter had ripped some gunny sacks that were in the cell into strips and wrapped his wrists and ankles. If she had not he was sure the manacles would have been rubbed his flesh raw right through to the bone. For the first few hours he managed to tip toe around the dropping the oxen left behind but he was getting sure the next steaming heap would probably have a perfect likeness of his foot, if not his face. They would have to stop sometime, water the beasts, have a meal, take a leak. If they didn't they might very well drag him the rest of the way. He was out of gas, had been running on fumes and there was nothing aside from will power the kept him on his feet.
The two men driving the cart came to a cross roads, stopped the cart and paid homage to the gods enshrined there. O'Neill just sat on the ground, head down trying to breathe. The driver got out a wine skin and after the two men had had their fill offered it to Carter. She begged them to be allowed to give it to O'Neill. It was well watered and barely began to quench his thirst. He would have drained it dry but remembered that Carter had refused to drink until he had. He passed it to her and glancing up saw the man or what was left of him. Here was a slave who had tried to kill his master; crucified and left to die, picked apart by animals and then rot. This object lesson was left on display, a fair warning to all slaves who passed this way. Retribution for certain crimes was swift and merciless. Carter was tossed a small loaf of bread and hunk of cheese. When no more was forth coming she tore it in half and gave half the bread to O'Neill and most of the cheese. Another wine skin was produced and they started back on their journey, making a hard left at the cross roads.
Night came within a few hours and the same meal was produced. The bread was a bit staler but there were a few olives. The men chained Carter and O'Neill on opposite sides of the cart under the wagon to the wheels and tossed them a ragged blanket. They lay back to back bound hand and foot. The oxen were tethered in a grassy field and the men arranged the sacks of supplies in the cart to form a lumpy bed for themselves. O'Neill tried to talk to Carter but was kicked by the driver for his efforts. If he spoke he was kicked, if Carter spoke he was kicked, if anything annoyed them he was kicked. He had had enough and attempted to sleep. Carter wanted to reassure him that she was alright without him suffering retribution. She laid her hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her. She pressed her cheek to his while gentle touching the other side of his face. He was more tightly bound than she and could only press his cheek to hers. Why would she want to put that silky skin next to his haggard, dirty, bruised face with god knows how many days worth of stubble on it, when she was use to her well groomed and perfumed cop, he'd never know. Then as she withdrew he felt it, a drop, a tear, her tear rolling down his cheek. The situation did look hopeless and he certainly was a mess but they would survive and not only survive but get home. He would get her home. In the words of his Jaffa friend 'of this he had no doubt'.