"How do I know that you are who you say you are?" the centurion said. "You might be thieves for all I know, and then I should be in trouble with my commanding officer."

The ring of men was closing in about them.

"My lord Zabaai, his wives, and his entire family are well known to the Roman governor of this city," Tamar repeated threateningly. She was very afraid now. These, she realized, were not regular legionnaires. These were auxiliaries, barbarians recruited from Gallic and Germanic tribes, noted for being pitiless, without mercy or respect for anything-including women.

"I am sure that you are both well known in the city," the centurion said insinuatingly, and the men with him laughed, their eyes hot. His gaze bold and cruel, he reached out and pushed Tamar aside. "I want a better look at you," he said to Iris, pulling her forward.

At first she looked at him unflinchingly, her blue-gray eyes scornful, but her heart was thumping violently against her ribs. She felt as if she were staring death in the face. The centurion let his hand caress her ash-blond hair almost lingeringly. Slowly the hand wandered downward over her body, fondling her breasts.

"Centurion," she said in a quiet, strained voice, "not only am I wife to Zabaai ben Selim, but I am the only daughter of the great banker, Simon Titus of Alexandria. Do not allow a simple rudeness to escalate into a serious crime."

"You lie," he said pleasantly. "You are a whore of Palmyra."

"Centurion, do not do this thing," Iris said, her voice now trembling. "Do you not have a wife, or a sister? Would you like it if someone did this thing to them?"

He looked at her dispassionately, and she saw no pity or mercy in his ice-blue eyes. "It has been a long time since I have had a fair woman," he said, and then he pushed her back onto the bed.

Her instinct for survival made her attempt to rise, but he shoved her back brutally, and Iris's control left her.