"I can see no reason why my Gauls should not see the justice in your punishment, Antonius Porcius," said the tribune of the sixth legion, somewhat stiffly.
"Assemble the entire garrison then," the governor commanded.
Two Roman legions, or twelve thousand foot soldiers plus two hundred forty cavalarymen, and two full auxiliary units, equal in size to the legions, assembled themselves outside Palmyra's main gate. Such a mighty gathering could not help but attract the curious. As word of the soldiers' movement flew throughout the city, the citizenry hurried outside the gates to see what was happening.
On a raised and awninged dais in the hot, late-afternoon sun sat the Roman governor, Antonius Porcius. Resplendent in his purple-bordered white robes, with a wreath of silver-gilt laurel leaves upon his balding head, he waited with Palmyra's princely ruler, Odenathus Septimius. A young man of twenty-two years, the prince set more than one woman in the crowd to dreaming. He was tall with well-formed and muscled arms and legs bronzed by the sun. The short skirt of his white tunic was embroidered in gold. His midnight-black hair was curly, his large eyes velvet-brown. His mouth was wide and sensuous, his cheekbones high, his jaw firm.
He was an intelligent and educated man, who played a waiting game with the Romans. He was not yet strong enough to overcome the invader, but he did have plans. The child Zenobia's angry accusation that he had become one of them had pleased him because it meant that he had succeeded with his ruse. The Romans trusted him.
Reaching up, Odenathus adjusted the crown of Palmyra upon his head. It was a beautiful crown, all gold, formed in the shape of the fronds of the Palmyran palms indigenous to the city. It was, however, hot in weather like this. He sighed, and brushed away a tiny trickle of sweat that attempted to slip down the side of his face.
The governor's trumpeters blew a fanfare, and the noisy crowds grew silent with anticipation. Then Antonius Porcius stood up, and walked to the edge of the dais. Solemnly, with a politician's flair for the dramatic, he let his gaze play over the hushed crowds. Finally he spoke, his nasal voice surprisingly strong.
'Today the glory of Rome was tarnished. It was tarnished not by those who are native to her, but rather by those upon whom she so graciously conferred the prize of her citizenship! Rome will not tolerate this! Rome will not permit those whom we have sworn to protect to be abused by anyone! Rome will punish those who would break her laws-and the laws of Palmyra!"
He paused a moment to allow his words to sink in, and then he continued. "This morning, a wife of Zabaai ben Selim, great chief of the Bedawi, was viciously raped and slain within her very home! Another of this loyal man's wives was also attacked and left for dead!"
A collective gasp arose from the assembled citizens of Palmyra, followed by a low ominous muttering.
Antonius Porcius held up his hands to quiet the anger of Palmyra. "There is more!" he cried loudly, and the crowd grew silent again. "The woman who survived has pushed her shame aside and has come forth to identify those who assaulted her and the poor slain one!"
His words had barely died out when the crowds of Palmyran citizens began to part to allow the camels of Zabaai ben Selim through to the official dais. The sight was both frightening and impressive.
The Bedawi chieftain led the group from atop his own black racing camel. Behind him rode his forty sons from the eldest, Akbar ben Zabaai, to the youngest, a boy of six who sat his own camel proudly and unafraid. Behind the Bedawi chief and his sons rode the other men of his tribe, followed by the walking and mourning women, who wailed a cadence of sorrow.
The camels stopped at the foot of the dais, and knelt in the warm sand to allow their riders to dismount. To everyone's surprise, one of the sons of Zabaai ben Selim turned out to be his only daughter, the beloved child, Zenobia. Flanked on either side by her father and Akbar ben Zabaai, she stood straight and stony-eyed before the Roman governor and Prince Odenathus.
"We have come for Roman justice, Antonius Porcius," Zabaai ben Selim cried. His voice rang clear in the still afternoon.
"Rome hears your plea, and will answer you fairly, Zabaai ben Selim," came the governor's reply. "Lucius Octavius!"
"Sir?" The commanding tribune of the sixth legion stepped forward.
"Assemble your Alae!"
"Yes, sir!" came the brisk reply, and the tribune turned, shouting his commands as he did so. "Gaulish Alae to the front, ho!"
The one hundred twenty men of the cavalry from the Gallic provinces moved slowly forward, finally stopping and lining up in tenrows of twelve men each. Their horses shifted edgily, feeling the men's nervousness. Zabaai ben Selim walked back to where the women of his tribe now stood silent, and led forth his chief wife, Tamar. Together, they moved along the rows of Roman horsemen, and Tamar's strong voice was soon heard as she pointed a short brown finger at the guilty ones.
"That one! And that one! These two!"
Legionnaires of the sixth legion dragged the accused men down from their shying horses, and then before the governor. At the very end of the rows of cavalry Tamar stopped, and Zabaai felt a bone-shattering shudder go through her. Looking up, he encountered a pair of the coldest blue eyes he had ever seen, and a thin, cruel mouth that drew back in a mocking smile.
"It is he, my husband. It is the centurion who raped and killed Iris."
Zabaai, looking into the knowing eyes of the Gaul, understood for a brief minute the terror and the shame that his sweet favorite wife must have felt in her last minutes. A fierce rage welled up within his breast, and with a wild cry of fury he pulled the centurion from his mount. In an instant his knife was at the man's neck, edging a thin red line across his throat. Only Tamar's insistent voice was able to stop her attacker's immediate execution.
"No, my husband! He must suffer as our Iris suffered! Do not, I beg you, grant him the blessing of a quick death! He does not deserve it."
Through the red mists of his anger Zabaai felt a hand on his hand, heard the plea of his wife, and lowered his weapon. His black eyes were suddenly filled with tears, and he turned away to hide them, using his sleeve to wipe the evidence of this weakness away so others might not see it. "Is that all of them, Tamar?" he asked her gruffly.
"Yes, my lord," she answered him softly, wanting to take him into her arms and comfort him. If it had been a terrible ordeal for her, so had it been for him. He had lost the thing dearest to him in the entire world. He had lost sweet Iris, and Tamar knew that he would never again be the same. That, more than anything else, saddened her, for she loved him.
She slipped her hand into his and together they walked to the foot of the dais, where Zabaai said quietly, "My wife says that these are all of the guilty ones, Antonius Porcius."
The Roman governor rose from his carved chair and came forward to the edge of the platform. His voice rang out over the crowd. "These men stand accused by their victim, whom they left for dead. Can one of them deny his part?" The governor looked at the guilty eight, who hung their heads, unable to face either Tamar or the others.
Antonius Porcius spoke again. "My judgment is final. These beasts will be crucified. Their centurion is now to be given to the Bedawi for torture and execution. The Roman Peace has prevailed."
A dutiful round of cheers rose from the ranks, a greater cheer from the Palmyrans. Then several legionnaires of the sixth legion dragged forward the wooden crosses that had been brought to the site in anticipation of the punishment to be meted out. The guilty men were divested of their uniforms and stripped naked. They were then bound upon their crosses, which were lifted high and held by one group of soldiers as others pounded them into the sandy ground from atop ladders that had been raised to aid them.