Street of the Prostitutes pushed through the crowd and presented themselves to Zabaai. One of them spoke. 'We will help you, chief to the Bedawi, and we will ask nothing in return. Since coming to Palmyra, this man has injured several of our sisterhood, and until now we have had no recourse to justice.'
The woman was a tall brunette of mature years, and quite skillfully painted. The beautiful young girl who had come forth with her was no more than fourteen, a blue-eyed golden blonde from northern Greece. With no pretense of modesty the girl stripped off her pale-pink silk robe, and stood naked before the crowd. Her youthful body was pure perfection with marvelous globe-shaped white breasts, a slender waist, and generously shaped hips and thighs. A sigh rippled through the crowd.
With deliberate slowness the girl moved to stand behind Vinctus Sextus's head. Gracefully she knelt and bent to brush his face first with one of her full breasts, then with the other. The man groaned with pure frustration as Zabaai's deep voice taunted him, 'What magnificent fruits, eh Gaul?'
Vinctus Sextus felt his fingers ache and twitch to grasp the tempting flesh rubbing against his face. Instinctively he struggled to move his bound arms. Too late he remembered that he no longer had any hands, and a curse rose to his lips.
Zabaai ben Selim's youngest son, the six-year-old Hassan, had possession of the Gaul's severed hands, and he danced mischievously about the bound man waving his trophies. Taking the hands, he placed them on the prostitute's plump breasts, rubbing them lewdly while the crowd roared with laughter at the boy's impishness. The centurion reverted to his native tongue, screaming, and it was obvious that he cursed the crowd, his fate, and anything else that came into his mind.
'He should be in appalling pain,' Antonius Porcius said to Prince Odenathus. 'Why is he not?'
'The boiling pitch is mixed with a painkilling narcotic,' the prince replied. 'They did not wish him to die of the pain, and so they have eased it considerably.'
The governor nodded. 'They are skillful torturers, the Bedawi. Should I ever need such men, I shall call upon them.'
The crowd ohed and ahed at each subtle torture. Fathers held their children on their shoulders for a better look. The two Roman legions and their auxiliaries stood silent, and at attention, but there were many white faces among them, especially those nearest the unfortunate Gaul. Antonius Porcius had already vomited discreetly into a silver basin held by his personal body servant.
As a final torture, Vinctus Sextus was tenderly bathed in warmed water that had been sweetened with honey and orange. Then each of the sons of Zabaai ben Selim emptied a small dish of black ants upon his helpless form. It was too much for even the hardened Gaul. He began to scream frantically, begging for mercy, begging that they kill him now. His big body writhed desperately in an effort to remove the tiny insects feeding upon his sweet-drenched body. Soon his screams grew weaker.
Realizing that the show was now over, the citizens of Palmyra stayed just long enough to see the Roman soldiers break the legs of the eight men who had been crucified, then began straggling back into the city proper, followed by the marching legions. The men of the sixth, and the ninth would consume a great deal of wine in the next several hours in a concerted effort to forget this afternoon.
His legs somewhat shaky, the Roman governor made his way from the dais and walked over to where Zabaai ben Selim stood with his sons and the girl child Zenobia.
'Are you satisfied with Roman justice, Chief of the Bedawi?' he demanded.
'I am satisfied. It will not return my sweet Iris to me, but at least she will be avenged with the deaths of these men.'
'Will you now leave on your winter trek?'
'We will stay here until the criminals are finally dead,' came the quiet reply. 'Only then will justice be done. Their bodies will then accompany us into the desert to become carrion for the jackals and the vultures.'
'So be it,' said Antonius Porcius, relieved to have the whole messy affair over with. Well, he thought to himself, one good thing came from this. That young blond prostitute was the loveliest creature he had seen in months. He intended buying her from her owners, for he was tired of his current mistress, the wife of a rich Palmyran merchant. Impatiently he signaled to his litter bearers.
'The gods go with you this winter, Zabaai ben Selim. We shall be happy to see you back in Palmyra come the spring.' The Roman governor then climbed into the litter and commanded his bearers to hurry back into the city.
Prince Odenathus watched him go, and then he smiled a mischievous smile. 'He is as transparent as a crystal vase, our Roman friend,' he said to Zabaai ben Selim. 'His desire for the blond whore was quite apparent, but he shall not have her. Such a brave girl deserves better than our fat Roman governor.'
'She is, I take it, already on her way to the palace,' was Zabaai ben Selim's amused reply.
'Of course, my cousin! The couch of a Bedawi prince is far preferable to that of a mere Roman.'
Zabaai ben Selim could not help but smile at his younger cousin. The Prince of Palmyra was a charming young man with not only an intelligent mind, but a keen sense of humor. But like many others in Palmyra, Zabaai still worried that Odenathus was not yet married, and had no heir, for Palmyran law dictated that no illegitimate child might inherit the throne. He looked closely at Odenathus, and asked, 'When are you going to wed, my Prince?'
'You sound like my council. It is a question they ask daily.' He signed. 'Life's garden is filled with many beautiful flowers, my cousin. I have yet, however, to find one sweet bud that attracts me enough to make my princess. Perhaps,' he chuckled, 'I shall wait for your little Zenobia to grow up, Zabaai.'
It had been said in jest, but no sooner were the words out of Prince Odenathus's mouth than Zabaai ben Selim realized that it was the very solution to his problem of a husband for his daughter. It was something that both he and Iris had worried about, for none of the young men of his tribe would have been suitable for their daughter. There was simply no getting around the fact that Zenobia was different from other girls. Not only was she far more beautiful than the ordinary Bedawi girl, but she was highly educated, fearless, and quite outgoing.
She could ride and race both camel and horse as well as any man. Because she had begged him to do so, he had let her take aims training with her younger brothers, and he was forced to admit that she was the best pupil he had taught in years, even better than her eldest brother, Akbar. She had a natural grace, and a flair with weapons that was surprising for someone so young. Strangely, no one gave a second thought to the unconventional things she did, for she was Zenobia, and unlike any girl his tribe had ever produced. He was proud of his daughter.
Still no young male Bedawi wanted a wife who not only rode better than he, but could surpass him in handling a sword, a spear, and a sling. A woman needed to know how to cook, how to birth children, how to herd animals, and sew. Zenobia was definitely not the kind of wife a man of his tribe could love and cherish, but Odenathus was a different type of man. Bedawi in his heritage on his father's side, he was yet a man of the city, and men of the city preferred their women more educated.
Zabaai ben Selim looked at his young cousin, and said, 'Would you actually consider Zenobia for a wife, Odenathus? My daughter would make you a magnificent wife, my cousin! You could have no better. She is more than well born enough for you, for on my side you share the same great-grandfather, and on her mother's side she descends from Cleopatra, the last queen of Egypt. She is not yet a woman, but in a few years she will be of marriageable age. I will only give her as a wife, not a concubine, and it must be agreed that her sons be your heirs.'
Prince Odenathus was thoughtful for a long moment. It was certainly not a bad idea, and would solve his problem as well. Zenobia bat Zabaai was dynastically a good match for him. She was also an educated and intelligent girl from what he had seen of her. If a man was to have intelligent sons then he must marry an intelligent wife, Odenathus thought. She might be an interesting woman someday.
'How soon after Zenobia becomes a woman would you be willing to give her to me, Zabaai?' he asked.
'A year at the very least,' came the reply. 'I will not even broach this matter with her until she has begun her show of blood, and men she will need time to adjust to the idea of marriage. She has lived all her life in the simple surroundings of the tribe, but my daughter is not just any girl, Odenathus. She is a pearl without price.'
Palmyra's young ruler looked across the sand to where the girl child Zenobia sat cross-legged upon the desert floor, watching with strangely dispassionate eyes the agony of her mother's killer. She sat very straight, and very still, seemingly carved out of some inanimate material. He had seen young rabbits sit just that way. She seemed not even to be breathing.
He shook his head in wonder. The Gaul was suffering horribly, and yet the child showed no signs of compassion, or even of revulsion. A man could breed up strong sons on the loins of such a woman as this child
