Dear reader, I hope this episode marks a satisfying conclusion to this little series. Before reading this, I recommend reading the previous chapters.

I would love to read what you would have done in Catherine's place.

Catherine sat in the library and read stoic scriptures written by men whose bones had long since turned to dust. It was as if they were speaking directly to her through the centuries. The power in these lines shone directly into her soul. It brought her peace.

The door to the library opened. Elena stepped through. Immediately Catherine stood up, ready to receive her orders.

"Easy, girl. Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, I am well again."

"I'm glad to hear that. I have news for you. You're going to leave the Domus Tizianae."

"What... what's going to happen to me?"

"Domina has sold you to Sarah Agrippina. After Domina is elected an honorary citizen in three days, you will be handed over to her household. Take a bag and prepare everything for your departure. The day after tomorrow we'll remove your collar and harness."

Catherine was stunned. Her heart became light as a feather while a wave of relief washed through her body. Was this not a dream? Could it be true? She held back tears of joy, trying to maintain her equilibrium.

Elena realized what was going on inside the slave. She smiled.

"Well, that's all then, girl. Have a nice evening..." and set to leave.

"Please wait! Do you mind telling me where Maryam is? I haven't seen her since my recovery. No one will tell me anything. I owe her my life."

The smile disappeared from Elena's face. After a moment, she forced herself to say:

"Tiziana had her executed for unchastity."

Catherine fell from the highest heights to the deepest depths. The joy in her heart was mercilessly extinguished.

"I'm sorry."

Elena left the girl alone in the library. She sat there for a long time, trying to process the latest news.

Eventually, she went to bed. But there was no thought of sleep. She stared at the ceiling while her mind raced.

Soon she would leave this diabolical house. This thing around her neck would finally be taken off her. Soon she would be able to leave all this behind her, forget everything...

Could she do that? Was that right? What would happen to the others? When would it end? When would it finally end? She gave herself the depressing answer. It would never end. Never. And there was nothing she could do. Tiziana would just keep going. How many had she already killed? Julia, Helene, Daphne and finally Maryam. Why her? This gentle soul hadn't deserved it. Not this. Not this fate. And no one would ever hold Tiziana accountable. She would never get what she deserved. She would never pay. This injustice would never end.

Suddenly it flashed through her skull. Yes, there was a possibility. She could do it. She could give Tiziana what she deserved. But she also knew what that would mean. If a slave killed her mistress, all the slaves in the house would be executed. They would all die with her if she brought Tiziana to justice. Who was she to decide about the others?

Catherine racked her brain. She had read so much. If she didn't act appropriately now, it would all be worthless ink on parchment.

The slave rolled onto her right side in her bed and pondered.

Many of them would be killed sooner or later. Beheaded. Suffocated. Or something else. Many of them for Tiziana's entertainment. For the amusement of her guests. But others would survive. Perhaps one day they would be freed. Or be sold to others, like herself.

They would be the ones who suffered the most. The ones who would die because of her instead of being freed one day. They were the ones to focus on. Could she accept their deaths? Could she look them in the eye when they were executed because of her and say, "I would do it again. I would let you die again just to give Tiziana what she deserves"?

No. She couldn't do that. She couldn't leave two dozen girls to certain death if there was a chance for even one of them to survive. She couldn't do that.

Catherine rolled over onto the other side of her bed.

But what about all the others? All those who would never fall into Tiziana's hands. Who would never get one of these collars put on them. There would certainly be more than the twenty-four slaves currently living under her. She would save them all. They would never suffer this horrible fate. Was the sacrifice of two dozen not worth the rescue of even one more? Wouldn't it be better for twenty-four to die than for twenty-five, let alone hundreds?

There was no way forward here.

Catherine rolled onto her back.

What about Julia, Daphne, Helene, Maryam? Were they never to be avenged? For fuck's sake! What about herself? How had she been humiliated? Twice she had almost been beheaded. For Tiziana's entertainment. As a demonstration of power. The score had to be settled! She couldn't get away with it. With all the blood on her hands. Even if the whole world perished, the criminal had to be punished. Fuck it! If she has killed, she must die!

And her own life?

Fate had just given her an immeasurable gift. Her liberation was within her grasp. If she just kept her head down for three more days, it would all be over.

Was this her trial? The crossroads at which the rest of her life would be decided? The life of a well-cared-for slave with a gracious mistress and no responsibilities, or the life in service of what the law of justice dictated, with all the heavy burdens and hardships that came with it.

The books she revered taught her to despise pain and death. To see them as something over which she had no control. Only her soul mattered. Only the state of her soul. And how could she look in the mirror if she let the murderer of good people get away with it?

The fear of losing her head almost drove her crazy. Since she had been here, she had feared being executed every day. And yet: we all have to die, whether today or in a hundred years' time. So the years in Sarah's house would only be a pathetic postponement of the inevitable - at the expense of justice.

Catherine clenched her fists.

She had made up her mind. She would do it. She would kill her and take full responsibility. She would lose her life for it, whether she succeeded or not. And she would take all the others with her to her ruin. But she would do it.

Apart from a few servants performing their nightly duties, no one was up. Catherine crept through the wide hallways, her bare feet barely audible on the cold marble floor. The knife, carefully concealed beneath her simple robe, lay cold against her skin. Her intention was crystal clear. Her focus unbroken. It was as if she were staring through a tunnel.

Every shadow seemed to come alive as she approached her mistress's room. She reached her door. If she pushed it open and Tiziana should be awake, she was doomed. She listened. Nothing.

What if there was a mechanism behind the door that would warn Tiziana? Or killed her instantly?

A chill ran down her spine as she carefully pushed down the handle and opened the door a crack. No light. Not a sound. Catherine gathered all her courage and stepped over the threshold.

Nothing happened. She quietly closed the door behind her. The slave stared at the bed at the other end of the room. She did not hear her footsteps. Only the pounding in her chest and the tinnitus in her ears. She almost feared that her thundering heart could be heard.

The full moon shone through the huge windows and illuminated the stage for the bloody deed that was about to take place.

With each step, Catherine could make out the outline of her mistress more clearly. She had stripped off most of her thin blanket. The slave saw her bare feet, her perfect thighs, her athletic abdomen, and finally her flawless breasts, which slowly rose and fell. Finally, she recognized her face. The face of a sleeping lion. Beautiful. And merciless. Catherine got goosebumps.

There it was on the side table next to her. This damned white box. She picked it up with a shaky hand and placed it on the floor, out of the sleeping patrician's reach. Then she turned back to Tiziana. The time had come. If she took one more step now, there would be no turning back. So that was it. The tree for her coffin had already been felled.

She had never taken a life before. To the neck and through! Catherine forced herself to the greatest leap of her life.

Tiziana felt the cold blade at her throat. She opened her eyes like shutters. Catherine gasped in horror. She almost screamed. She paused, the blade at her mistress's throat.

Tiziana flinched at first but remained composed and did not move. Her eyes immediately went to the side table. Then she looked Catherine in the face. She understood. There was no escape here.

"Killed so close to the finish line by a fucking slave... I can't believe it."

"I don't give a rat's ass what you believe. Now you're going to die."

"Enjoy it, girl!" hissed Tiziana through her gritted teeth.

"Look at me while you die."

With a swift motion, Catherine ran the blade through Tiziana's throat. Skin, muscle, flesh, windpipe, and veins were severed.

Tiziana's eyes widened as she clutched her neck. Black blood spurted from her open arteries and poured over her youthful body. The white sheets soaked it up. A gurgle escaped her throat as she stared unwaveringly at Catherine. The slave gazed down at her. It was a pleasure to see her like this. Vengeance. Satisfaction. Justice.

The life flowed out of her bit by bit. Tiziana's convulsions subsided. With her warm wet hand, she grabbed Catherine's arm. She pushed it away and it fell lifeless into the red sheets. Tiziana was dead.

The girl looked out of the window. The giant moon looked in silently. It had seen everything. Then Catherine turned back to Tiziana. A shiver ran down her spine. Just a moment ago there had been two of them in the room. Now she was standing there alone next to a cold, pale body.

Her gaze wandered across the room to the white box on the floor.

Should she do it? Just press the button and it will all be over. Here and now. No one would be able to hurt her anymore. Just like when one forces oneself in a nightmare to jump into the depths to wake up.

No. She would not pull out of the affair. She would take full responsibility for her actions. She would endure what she had to endure. Just like the other slaves. Most of them were asleep right now. Didn't know that their lives would change at sunrise. And soon end. Catherine would go with them. Until the very end.

They found the dead patrician early in the morning. The city guard tore the slaves from their sleep, tied their hands behind their backs, and led them away one by one. Catherine among them. Many did not know what all this was about. They offered no resistance.

Elena was one of the first to find out what had happened. Before she could be caught, she locked herself in her room, put a pair of scissors on her collar, mustered all her courage, and squeezed. When the city guards burst through the door, they found the decapitated girl, her head at her feet, in a puddle of blood.

The case shocked the whole town. Catherine made a full confession. The other slaves also confirmed her statement, even under torture. Many of them cursed her, shouting at her why she had done this to them. Why they all had to die now. Catherine tried to protect the other slave girls, but it was in vain. They were all sentenced to death. In their cells, their collars and harnesses were removed. So close to their deaths, they saw themselves freed from the instruments of their enslavement. Catherine was to die on the cross, the other girls would be executed in the arena in honor of the noble patrician. Such was the law.

The girl could barely lift the heavy beam. The guard struck. With all her strength, she lifted the cross on her shoulder and trotted through the streets. Thousands watched her, from the roadside, from windows, from rooftops, as she slowly walked towards her miserable fate. She carried the cross on her right shoulder. The hard edge pinched her nerves. The roughly carved beam dug into her skin as she stumbled forward with each step. Sharp stones on the uneven floor cut into her bare feet.

Sweat dripped ceaselessly down her body. Her hair stuck to her forehead. Her muscles trembled. She wanted to throw up. And wherever she looked, there were only hate-filled faces that insulted, mocked, and cursed her.

The bottom of the cross plowed across the dusty ground. There. The city gate. It promised salvation and yet at the same time heralded their imminent execution. Tears mingled with the sweat running down her cheeks.

The girl struggled through the gate onto the nearby hill in front of the city wall. At last, Catherine collapsed. The cross had almost crushed her frail body. Her shoulder was freed from the weight. On her knees, she struggled for breath with her eyes closed. Catherine's dry mouth burned. Her tongue felt like a piece of leather.

"It's all right, Catherine," she thought to herself.

The guards tore off her clothes until she stood naked, as the gods created her, with her head bowed in front of the crowd. The condemned girl let herself be laid without any resistance on the cross on the ground and was tied by her hands and feet.

"It's all right... You did the right thing. This is your fate. It's all right..."

Catherine was brutally torn from her thoughts. A bloodcurdling scream escaped her throat as the nail pushed aside the bones under her right wrist and crushed the nerves in its path.

Another hammer blow.

Again.

And again.

Catherine screamed and whimpered. Then she saw the executioner on her left apply the second nail under her joint. He raised the hammer.

"No! Please! Please don't...!"

She screamed again.

Some of the spectators averted their eyes.

The girl clenched her teeth with all her might. With every heartbeat, the horrible pain throbbed in her wet hands.

Her feet were next. The nail shattered her arches. The girl cried her throat hoarse.

At last, they stopped hammering. There she lay trembling on her back, nailed to the cross.

Catherine felt herself leaving the ground. The pain in her feet made her cry out miserably. The ties and nails held her firmly to the wood. These four sensitive points carried her entire weight. A moment later she looked down at the crowd. Everyone was staring at the sobbing girl.

She couldn't breathe. Her diaphragm was clamped. Her nailed wrists stretched her rib cage. For every breath Catherine had to pull herself up by her hands, inhale, only to sink down again and shift her weight back to her feet. The agony almost drove the girl out of her mind.

A moment's pause. All she wished for was just a moment without pain. Just a brief moment. Please. Please!

But there was no such thing. Just pain. The pain was inescapable. It could not be chased away. It masked every thought. She would hang here like this. It would go on like this until she died.

Tears, sweat, and blood ran down her broken body. The merciless sun burned down on her. Insects crawled over her naked skin and sucked from her wounds.

Catherine tried to stop breathing. To suffocate herself. To at least pass out. But she couldn't. Again and again, she went through the ordeal of heaving herself up by the nails and trying to catch another breath.

Slowly, the crowd dispersed and streamed back into the city. They went to the arena to watch the executions of the other slave girls. The girl was left alone.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours.

Suddenly, a terrible scream rang out in the distance. Cheers. The executions had begun. What were they doing to them? She did not know.

Another scream.

Catherine couldn't bear it. Didn't want to hear it. She cried. She cried bitterly in her despair. She had thought she knew what she was getting herself into. Had thought she could bear it. He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how. Didn't they say so? Yes. Almost any how...

Another scream.

Why hadn't she killed herself? Why? Why hadn't she done it when there was still a chance? She was strong in the moment of the act. That was brave. But this... She wasn't strong enough for this. She couldn't bear it. It was too much. The lost girl sobbed lonely on her cross.

Someone approached. Catherine could barely see. It was Sarah, accompanied by her slaves. She was wearing black. Her eyes were red with tears. The aristocrat could hardly bear the sight of the crucified girl but forced herself to look at her, nevertheless.

"By the gods, why did you do this to yourself? Why?"

Catherine could no longer speak. She just looked down at her.

"Farewell, Catherine."

With that, she made a sign to a servant and had her throat cut. In her last moments, Catherine looked down with gratitude at the merciful patrician. Her suffering finally came to an end.