"True; and they will meet under this very portico," said Bath Zabbai,
and moved both by interest and desire this dark-eyed Syrian girl, to
whom fear was never known, standing by her cousin's side, looked down
upon the tossing sea of spears and lances and glittering shields and
helmets that swayed and surged in the street below.

"So, Odaenathus!" said Rufinus, the tribune, reining in his horse and
speaking in harsh and commanding tones, "what meaneth this array of
armed followers?"

"Are the movements of Septimus Odaenathus, the head-man, of such
importance to the noble tribune that he must needs question a free
merchant of Palmyra as to the number and manner of his servants?" asked
Odaemathus haughtily.

"Dog of a Palmyrean; slave of a camel-driver," said the Roman angrily,
"trifle not with me. Were you ten times the free merchant you claim, you
should not thus reply. Free, forsooth! None are free but Romans."

"Have a care, O Rufinus," said the Palmyrean boldly, "choose wiser words
if you would have peaceful ways. Palmyra brooks no such slander of her
foremost men."

"And Rome brooks no such men as you, traitor," said Rufinus. "Ay,
traitor, I say," he repeated, as Odaenathus started at the word. "Think
not to hide your plots to overthrow the Roman power in your city and
hand the rule to the base Sapor of Persia. Every thing is known to
our great father the Emperor, and thus doth he reckon with traitors.
Macrinus, strike!" and at his word the short Gallic sword in the ready
hand of the big German foot-soldier went straight to its mark and
Odaenathus, the "head-man" of Palmyra, lay dead in the Street of the
Thousand Columns.

So sudden and so unexpected was the blow that the Palmyreans stood as if
stunned, unable to comprehend what had happened. But the Roman was swift
to act.

"Sound, trumpets! Down, pikes!" he cried, and as the trumpet peal rose
loud and clear, fresh legionaries came hurrying through the Damascus
arch, and the pilum(1) and spatha of Rome bore back the shields and
lances of Palmyra.

(1) The pilum was the Roman pike, and the spatha the short single-edged
Roman sword.

But, before the lowered pikes could fully disperse the crowd, the
throng parted and through the swaying mob there burst a lithe and flying
figure--a brown-skinned maid of twelve with streaming hair, loose robe,
and angry, flashing eyes. Right under the lowered pikes she darted and,
all flushed and panting, defiantly faced th