Beloved by Bertrice Small Read Free Book Online

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 herowners, 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 sighed. “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 arms 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