Varinia did not scream, she didn't moan, she just closed her eyes and remained uncooperative. I walked away again. My constantly walking towards her was making me more noticeable to others, which, at the beginning, I wanted to avoid.

Any desire for revenge would go against my person since I represented the Empire and the executioner was, to all concerned, anonymous, although famous. It was me, the keeper of the records, the servant of the Proconsul, who would be targeted if Varinia's death made anyone wishful of revenge.

There was always that risk. The 2000 men who hanged on their crosses did not scared others into submission, in fact, it made them angrier. Thus I do question our methods but I'm not eager to contradict the power over me I just follow the orders and leave the logic inside of my mind. But I do question myself too. Is it information that I seek? Or do I want to create a martyr for her cause? I throw those fear-filled thoughts into the refuge of my soul and go again to continue with my duty.

I noticed that, for a while, Varinia had her hands together, holding her garment around her waist, a sign that she had a sense of modesty, even at a time when her body was exposed to all to see. Her arms probably tired, because at one point they just hung by her sides and her garment fell down and over the chain around her thigh, revealing more of her body.

While I had to remain aloof to the effects her body had on my mind, I could not avoid to, once in while, just direct my eyes on her skin and wonder how it would be to touch her. As far as I could find she had not known a man yet, she was, in fact, a virgin. Her mind was more important to her than her body, even if her body was what attracted everyone the most.

Even our spy hesitated before denouncing her to us. He was, indeed, enthralled by her beauty. But fear of reprisals overcame his hesitations and he took the information to the proper authorities. Along with her name, some other names were on his report, one was her servant.

The crack of the whip was louder as the time passed and Varinia's moans were more audible than before. They were deep, they came from inside her. She only had to open her mouth and the sound would emerge, pushed up by the beating her lungs were taking and by the push of the wooden post against her chest.

Her breasts were not big, they were not small, but they were hidden from the view of the crowd since all they could see was her back. The lines of her body were fine, a clear indication that she was not one that toiled the fields or served in houses. Her skin was soft and clean, even after spending a few nights in a dirty dungeon and without access to what she must be accustomed to...a proper Roman bath.

We brought our baths to these shores, along with our mastery of road-making and aqueducts. But we encountered that Thracians were masters of works of iron and it was ironic perhaps that the metal brace holding Varinia's neck was of Thracian origin.

The whip hit her under her neck and I saw how her body shook as her head was pushed back by the force of the lash. The art that went into the making of the metal brace was ingenious indeed. It held her head up without pressing her neck, thus she was not in danger of asphyxia. It was at a level that allowed her to stand on her feet thus her main support were her legs, which could not bend, even if she was weaker, so they were always holding her up.

If the need arose to raise her arms to help her body up, that was possible too, since there were chains and ropes above her head. There was no danger of losing her during the first part of her torture. I did not have to concern myself with the punishment itself. My principal preoccupation was to find a way to break into her mysterious side, that which she hid even from her most trusted friends and family.

We arrested only very few of the people that could provide information and who refused to give us any during our inquiries.

We arrested one man and two women. The man was one of the young men who pretended her attentions, one of many, not so different than the rest of them, the one difference was that he remembered what she had said. Most of the young men we questioned had only eyes for her, and her words passed through their young brains without any staying power. But the one we arrested was moved by her discourse. He followed her when she left the group and tried, to no avail, to continue the discussion, but Varinia frustrated his desires by refusing to engage with only one person in what should be a matter of concern for the many.

From that time on he became like a shadow to the young woman, who could not go anywhere without him somewhere around, lurking in the darkness of the night or hiding behind walls and doors as she walked the streets. He was obsessed, that much we found. He was perhaps our best lead because he was one who knew where she went and who she met. But we felt that because of his feelings for her he would not be helpful unless forced.