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Iris lied, that she was a—a—” Fearfully Tamar glanced toward her husband.
    “A
what?”
demanded Zabaai ben Selim.
    “A whore of Palmyra,” Tamar whispered. Zabaai ben Selim howled his outrage at her words.
    Antonius Porcius shuddered. “I must ask you this, my lady Tamar,” he said apologetically with a glance of worry toward Zabaai ben Selim. “Who killed the lady Iris? Do you know, or can you remember?”
    Beginning to shake with the shock once more, Tamar said, “Iris was taken by the centurion twice. It was he who killed her after he had finished the second time. I pretended to have expired from their attacks, and so they left me for dead.”
    “What could the child see?” the governor asked.
    “She saw nothing, praise the gods!” Tamar replied. “However, she heard everything. The bed coverlets hid her from their lusting eyes. I shall always remember the confused look in little Zenobia’s eyes. Those eyes asked a thousand questions I could not answer. What will this have done to her, Antonius Porcius? She has never known anything but kindness from this world.”
    The governor turned to Zabaai ben Selim. “Can the lady Tamar be made ready to travel? I will have the entire garrison assembled before the city walls. It will not be hard to find the guilty ones with such a witness. Only one of the auxiliary legions is from Gaul. The other one comes from Africa, and its men are as black as ebony.”
    “I want the centurion,” Zabaai said quietly. “Do what you will with his men, but I want the centurion!”
    Antonius Porcius agreed quickly, saying, “Only if you punish and execute him before the entire garrison. I want a severe lesson made of him so this will never happen again. We are better off without such scum!”
    “I agree,” Zabaai ben Selim replied.
    “I will accompany the governor back into the city, my good cousin,” the young prince said. “Will two hours be sufficient time for you to prepare the lady Tamar for her journey to justice?”
    Before Zabaai ben Selim might reply Tamar said in a suddenly firm voice, “I will be ready, my lord Prince! If I live but one moment past the time I testify against those beasts it will be enough!”
    Prince Odenathus embraced his cousin, then he and the Roman governor left the room. In the upper hallway they saw the child Zenobia, who had come from her room, her mother’s servant, Bab, trailing behind her. Odenathus stopped, greeting her in a kindly voice.
    “Do you remember me, my small cousin?”
    She stopped, and he was suddenly struck by her beauty. She was but eleven, he knew, but already she showed promise of becoming an incredibly beautiful woman in a city famed for its beautiful women. She had grown tall since he had last seen her some two years ago; but her body was still the flat and rangy one of a child. Her long hair, loose and free of any ribboned restraint, was as black as a clear night sky.
    Odenathus reached out and stroked her head as he might his favorite hunting saluki, slipping his hand down to raise up her oval heart of a face. Her hair was soft, as was her pale-gold skin. Her eyes were incredible. Almond-shaped with long, thick black lashes, they were the dark gray of a thundercloud, yet within their depths he could see golden fires banked now by her grief. She had a straight little nose, and such a lovely mouth that he had to restrain himself from bending down to kiss her lips, reminding himself sternly that she was yet a child. Still, he thought regretfully, she was a very tempting nymph of a creature.
    “I remember you, my lord Prince,” Zenobia replied softly.
    “I am sorry, Zenobia,” he said helplessly.
    It was then that the silvery thundercloud eyes flashed. “Why do you tolerate the Roman pigs within Palmyra?” she burst out angrily at him.
    “The Romans are our friends now as they have ever been, my flower. This has been an unfortunate incident,” he said smoothly, aware of his companion the imperial