The echoes of the last lash on Varinia's back were still travelling over a captivated audience when I turned to see them. I must add to my report that the reaction in the populace, at this point in the execution, was not what we were aiming for.

There was no fear in their eyes, only anger. Surely there were some who were with us, but not all. Most of the population were not in agreement with their forced leaders, those we hand picked from the ranks of the most ambitious and greedy.

It was easy to find people hungry for power in any of the territories we captured. Even amongst those who called themselves religious leaders, we could find people to serve as our chosen leaders.

But my personal observations led me to believe that most people were not in concordance with those who we chose to lead them.

This was only the beginning of the execution, I hoped then that by the time the day was over those expressions would change from anger to fear.

The executioner put away the whip, he hung it on a metal brace attached to a plank leaning on a wall. The plank had nails in it, small nails. I knew what the purpose of that plank was and I hoped that it would not be used on the woman.

I turned my gaze from the people to the stage where the passion play was underway. I have a fancy for Greek dramas. They are effective when telling the story of the people. I attended many of them when I visited Greece. In some way, those public acts inspired us into mounting elaborate execution rituals.

There was no reward in torturing someone in the dungeons, when what we recovered from such activity was only a little information. What was the point of cruelty if no one learned a lesson except those torturing and the one being tortured?

Varinia's servant was such a case.

She suffered her interrogation in the confines of a cold and dark dungeon with only three people present. Her torturer, a guard, who was also an assistant, and I, who was there to gather the information.

I heard the sounds of the pulley as the timber was being lowered from where it hung.

The stage of the execution was an elaborate contraption where the post was the only center of attention. There were chains hanging from a beam that was held by three posts. There were more posts forming a quadrilaterum shape with one in the center of two, that was the execution post.

Most observers were below the platform. This is also the place where slaves were exposed, sold, punished. In times of peace, and where no executions or punishments were scheduled, the platform was used for proclamations, discourses and occasionally for the entertainment of the people. It was a small version of a coliseum.

The timber was lowered slowly until it was at the level of Varinia, who did not show if she was aware of what was occurring then.

The timber was to be her cross, she was going to be nailed to it, raised up to a high point of the post and she was going to hang from it 'til death.

All this was going to happen eventually, first she had to suffer her torments, but always attached to her cross.

Her servant did not know that her mistress' fate was sealed. She first volunteered, as most of the people we talked to did, all she knew about her generous lady. "She's like our queen!", she said, meaning her comments to be a praise, not knowing that she was giving arguments to the prosecutors.

"She treats us like equals, never demanding more respect from us than we give to anyone else, she never punishes us, she rebukes our mistakes with kindness, she asks for our advise, that's why we love her and would follow her anywhere.".

"Does she have an army?", I asked, hoping that I had found the perfect informant.

"You must be joking!", was her answer, laughing at such question. "She only has her house, her lands and her people.".

"Are her people an army?!", I demanded, and something in my voice made her realize that we were not after innocent information.

"My lady is a lady, not a soldier, not a general, she doesn't lead the army.".

Perhaps it was an innocent answer, perhaps she didn't mean it that way, but the way she phrased her answer doomed her and her lady.

"Who's the general of her army?!", I demanded.

The torturer released Varinia's hands from the chains attached to her shackles. While doing so, he had to manipulate her garment, exposing more of her, touching more of her. She bore the humiliation in silence. I was sure she felt the exposure of her body and it offended her.

She was known for her modesty, we learned from her servants and friends. Only two of her trusted maids had seen her naked, while bathing her. She was not ashamed of her body, they told me, she just didn't feel like she should show herself to others, that it was private.

But now she was exposed, her body ravaged by the roving eyes of a multitude, touched by unfriendly hands, tortured by men who never possessed her.

I saw the hanging timber, at the level of her waist, separating her body in two. It was thick and heavy, round, just a heavy log cut from a tree sometime before. That heavy branch was going to hold her body high. I dreaded the thought.