“Take him away and secure him. At first light, the search will begin.”
It was to his wife alone that Caesar spoke the words he had had in his mind.
“This matter, of course, can only end one way. With the death of both of them. Probably the tiger will be killed in the hunt. If the slave can catch it alive, it can be put to death in the arena, for the entertainment of the people. The slave himself, of course,” he added as an afterthought, “will die a more private death the moment his usefulness is at an end.”
Aurelia's mother was horror-stricken.
“Septimus, how can you! Do you realize what this will mean to Aurelia?”
Caesar's eyes narrowed. “Mean to her? It will mean she has lost her pet tiger. That's all. She is Caesar's daughter. She must learn to sustain such trivial losses.”
His wife stared at him wordlessly. An all but unthinkable thought crossed Caesar's mind for the first time.
“That is the only loss she would feel, I presume?”
The Empress recovered herself sharply. “Of course! Of course,” she repeated, trying not to allow any note of panic to enter her voice. But it was a great effort to hide her shock. “I just don't want her to be unhappy. She's so fond of—of Boots.”
Caesar peered into her eyes as if trying to read her soul.
“I'll get her another pet,” he said at last. “Something less prone to cause trouble.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his wife standing with tightly closed eyes and absolute dread in her heart.
Julius in Chains
SOMETHING NOT TO BE EXPECTED,the sort of intervention that, had Boots been a man, with some belief in the gods, he might have ascribed to divine power, happened as the first dawn light was creeping into the eastern sky over the sleeping city and the wild countryside around it.
A shepherd named Rufus, out early with his goats to let them crop the scanty grass while the dew was still on it, spotted a strange bright striped thing sticking out from un-der a rock and thought it was a snake. He crept up to it silently, raised his shepherd's staff, and brought it down hard on Boots's tail.
The tiger awoke with a yowl and leaped up, hitting his head on the projecting rock above. So he was in double dis-tress when he emerged from under the rock and stood in all his angry might, looking around, baffled, for the cause of his pain. Rufus, when he saw the huge animal he had aroused, instead of running for his life simply stood motionless and stared with his mouth hanging open.
That he didn't do what any other man would have done was because he was not like other men. He was a simpleton from birth. But though his brain was dulled, or perhaps because of that, he had a strange affinity with dumb beasts. He had struck at the “snake” only because he was afraid it might kill one of his goats. For himself, he had no fear.
For a long moment, man and animal stared at each other. Boots's throbbing tail twitched, but he didn't spring at the shepherd. Why should he? He didn't associate him with his pain. He had never attacked a two-legs and this one didn't threaten him. He felt safe with it, and his greatest need just now was to feel safe. He approached Rufus slowly and, when he reached him, he gazed up at him for a moment and then rubbed his great head and long, plump side heavily against the man's thigh.
Rufus let his hand open and the furry spine passed under it. When back turned into tail, he closed his hand loosely around it and let it flow through his fingers. When he felt the lump where he'd struck it, he made soothing sounds and stroked the sore place. Boots lay down on the stony ground, rolled on his back, and began to utter rumbling purrs. His unease and loneliness vanished. Here was a two-legs doing what, in all his experience, two-legs did. They brought safety and comfort, and, sooner or later, food.
Rufus crouched beside him. He was staring at the leather foot covers. From them, his eyes, and then his caressing hands, roved to the animal's neck, where the earliest rays of the sun were bringing out the twinkle in the gold and jewels that embossed the leather collar half lost in the long tawny fur.
“Well,” he said aloud. “Pretty things here. What Rufus finds, Rufus keeps.” He laughed his strange simpleton's laugh, and set about discovering how the five pieces of leather came undone. Thick in his head he might be, but his hands were cunning. By the time he stood up and made off with his goats, Boots was free—freer than he had ever been since he played at his brother's side in his native jungle.
By the time the sun was well up above the silver-green hills surrounding the silver-white city, Julius, accompanied by a small party of skilled hunters and two guards to prevent his escape, was tracking the tiger through the scrub behind the senator's villa.
He was concentrating fiercely on the ground, and was quite unaware of Marcus watching him from a rear window.
Marcus, tired out, had slept through the night, but he had awoken at dawn with a stifled pain. He couldn't tell what part of him it came from; but it took only a couple of seconds, and several deep breaths that brought no relief, to recognize it as the pain of guilt.
His father had sent for him as soon as Marcus had eaten—or failed to eat—his breakfast, and interrogated him sternly for half an hour. Already Marcus's story was coming apart. Had he had his eye on the tiger all the time it was in the storeroom? Yes…. But he hadn't said anything about a haunch of smoked goat that had been found on the floor, with several large bites taken out of it. How could he not have seen the tiger drag it down? Marcus couldn't explain.
How exactly had the tiger pushed over the amphora of wine? With his front feet, Marcus told him unsteadily. If that were so, the iron stand as well as the jar would have gone over, but the stand had been found upright. Marcus shrugged unhappily.
“But weren't you watching all the time? You must have had a shock when you saw the tiger going near my precious wine jar. You must have seen how it got broken.” Marcus, pale and sweating, shook his head.
His father looked at him piercingly until he dropped his eyes.
“You may go for the moment, Marcus, but I shall want to see you again later.”
In the doorway, Marcus stopped. “Has Boots been found, Pata?” he asked in a squeaky, urgent voice.
“When the beast is found, you'll be told,” his father said.
There were other questions Marcus wanted to ask, but he didn't dare. There was something in his father's manner that frightened him more than open anger. A tension— something held in—that spoke louder than words about the seriousness of the situation.
Now the boy stood at his window and watched Julius and the other men. Julius led them, bent double, peering at the dry grasses and broken scrub, moving slowly, a terrible air of desperation about him. Marcus noticed a glint among the dull sunlit stones and bushes. To his horror, he saw it was a shackle fastened to Julius's leg. Now he could see that a thin chain led from it to the hands of the man closest behind him. Julius was a prisoner.
It's our fault, Marcus! Of course it's our fault!
Marcus's tutor came.
Today Marcus had no intention of learning—at least, not lessons. He wanted information, and with the story of the runaway tiger on the lips of everyone who had any connection with either Caesar's or the senator's households, it wasn't difficult for Marcus to find out more.
“It's said that Caesar is in a fearful rage,” said the young tutor, eager to share his inside knowledge. “The tiger, when it's caught, will be sent to fight in the arena.”
“But that tiger won't fight! He's tame.”
“He'll be killed by the gladiators, then. And everyone concerned with letting him escape is to be punished.”
“Oh? How?” asked Marcus as casually as he could. It was hard to control the breathlessness of his voice, even for those two syllables.
The tutor lowered his voice. “The four slaves who fell asleep by the cage have already been condemned. They'll be thrown to the wild beasts in next week's circus. As to the keeper, they're saying Caesar has something special in store for him. But only after he's caught the
tiger.”
Marcus jumped up, sat down, got up again. He was breathing hard, as if he'd been running a race.
“I can't study today,” he said abruptly. “You're dismissed.”
“But Master Marcus—”
“Do as you're told.”
Bewildered, the young man stood up, bowed, and withdrew. Marcus stood with his head down, dripping sweat on the mosaic floor. Then he gasped. He had noticed with a terrible pang of fear that the drops were falling on a face, depicted in tiny pieces of colored stone. It was the face of the goddess Minerva, who now appeared to be crying.
A fearful omen, surely! A goddess, weeping for him! Marcus fled to his bedroom and flung himself facedown on the bed.
While Marcus lay trembling with fear and guilt, and Julius in chains tracked Boots into the hot, dry hinterland, Aurelia was in her mother's private apartment, where she had been summoned. Her mother had decided it was better for her to learn the terrible news from her than from palace gossip.
“My own darling child,” she began tenderly, drawing Aurelia close to her. “I have something to tell you that I'm afraid will upset you very much. But you must be brave. The gods have decreed that we must all suffer sorrow and losses in this life. No one escapes. What matters is how we face our lot.”
Aurelia drew back, and stared at her mother with eyes enormous with fear.
“Oh, Mata, he's not dead, is he?” she gasped.
Her mother pulled her swiftly forward, muffling her mouth against her breast.
“Hush, cara! Don't!” she whispered frantically. For she knew, with a mother's instinctive knowledge, that it was not the tiger she meant.
Aurelia wrenched herself free. “Is he dead? Tell me yes or no!”
Her mother shook her head. Aurelia turned faint from relief and her mother grasped her by the arms. “Listen, and accept. He lives, so far. I don't know how your father will punish him for his crime.”
“Crime? What crime?”
“The law of Rome says it's a crime to fail in duty and obedience. Julius failed in his duty, and for that he must suffer punishment. No, my child, my sweet one, don't look like that. And don't think of begging for him to be spared. If your father had the least idea that you have forgotten— even for a moment, out of pity—that he is only a slave, believe me, his fate would be far worse. There are—there are many ways a man can die. Until this misfortune, he served well. I think,” she added, looking away from Aurelia's frantic eyes, “that if he can catch Boots, your father might spare his life. But don't hope too hard for it, and, in the name of all the gods together, Aurelia, don't even hint to your father that you—” She stopped.
“That I love him,” Aurelia said with sudden steadiness.
Her mother gave a stifled scream at the words. Then she whirled to face the larium—the household shrine where statuettes of the hearth-protecting gods stood in a small wooden cupboard.
She dragged Aurelia to the ground and they both prayed their own private prayers. If their gods were listening, they might have been much confused by the wild difference in what was being asked of them.
Oh, great ones! prayed the mother, silently and frantically. Shut your ears to her shame! She doesn't mean it. She's only a child! I have told her since she could understand simple words that we are not free to love whom we will! Feeling Aurelia under her hand, trembling with emotion, she threw back her head. Oh, gods, forgive me! Much of the blame is mine. I knew the moment I saw that young man that he might be dangerous for her. Bring her back to a proper sense of her position and her destiny, or what will become of us?
Oh, spirits of my ancestors, prayed the daughter, no less fervently. He may be only a slave, but he is a man, a good man with a noble heart. Don't let my father have him killed! If that happens I shall not bear it!
But although Aurelia was a pious girl, she feared she couldn't trust any of the household gods, or indeed great Jove himself, to save Julius. She must somehow do it herself.
Aurelia's Secret
SINCE HIS ENCOUNTER with the shepherd, Boots's view of freedom had changed.
For the first time since he was a cub, he had all the pleasure of exploring the ground with his feet, of sharpening his claws on trees, of covering his scat by drawing earth and stones over it, of receiving all the exciting messages the surface of the world has to offer any normal cat. All the rest of his senses seemed clearer. With his four feet in touch with the ground, he could smell better, and his instincts and reflexes came back to him.
When something delicious-smelling ran unwarily past him, he found he had pounced on it and pinned it down without thought. He lay down with it between his front paws and played with it awhile before eating it. His claws clung to the meat. He kept sheathing and unsheathing them with a feeling of intense well-being, and used them to rip off its fur. Food brought to him ready killed had never, never tasted as this did. Fangs or no fangs, he crunched it up to the last bite and then lay licking his pads and between his toes. It was a feeling like no other. He did it for a long time, until every part of his feet became his own again.
After his meal he needed to drink, and he could smell water not far off. He wandered down a hill and found that his way to the water was barred by a wall. He sprang over it easily, his new claws helping at the top. He was in the garden of a villa. In the middle of the garden was a pool with a small fountain. He drank his fill, and then lay down on the paving to sleep. Of course, he felt no fear of the two-legs that he could smell everywhere.
A scream awoke him and he raised his head. A female two-legs was standing not far away from him in an archway, mouth wide, making peacock shrieks. Boots was up and over the wall in a flash of gold and black.
But the sight of the female two-legs reminded him of his female two-legs. He felt a need of her, for she was part of his life. He began to quest the air for her special smell.
Sightings of the runaway tiger were not limited to the woman at the villa with the fountain. Several people saw him, and reported back to Caesar's messengers, who were ranging over and around the city offering rewards to anyone who could catch the beast or give information leading to his capture. But Boots was showing unexpected cunning. He had several hiding places where he lay up during the day, and he only came out at night to hunt and explore and search the air for telltale hints of Aurelia in the wind.
After a week, the search was given up. No one had seen the tiger for three days at this point, and it was assumed he had left the district and run into the rough country to the south. Caesar was furious. He had invested large sums in the hunt, and the animal itself was very valuable. Besides, he was not used to being thwarted. The longer Boots seemed to defy his hunters, the deeper became Caesar's anger, and having no other target, it fixed itself on Julius. The four cage slaves were swiftly disposed of, but Julius had to be kept alive until Caesar decided on a suitable fate for him. Meanwhile, he contented himself with throwing the youth into a prison adjoining the Colosseum to await his fate.
Aurelia, although terribly afraid of the outcome, did what she had to do. Despite her mother's pleadings and warnings, she went to see her father.
“Father, I have something very important to tell you.”
“What is it? I'm extremely busy just now.”
“It's about my tiger.”
He looked up from the table where he was working. There were some new lines, like slashes, across his forehead and between his eyes.
“Well?”
“It wasn't the fault of—of the slave Julius. It was my fault.”
“Indeed. How?”
“I—I took Boots away and hid him, to play a joke on Julius.”
“What was ‘Julius’ doing, meanwhile?”
“He'd slipped away for a moment.”
“To relieve himself?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Leaving you alone, but for four cage slaves who were fast asleep.”
Aurelia was silent.
“And your cousin, what part did
he have in this … joke?”
“None! He was asleep too. It was my idea.”
“A likely story,” said Caesar. He bent again to his work, and waved a dismissive hand at her.
“But, Father—it's true—”
He raised his head again, and gave her a look that froze her heart.
“It's a lie. A stupid, childish, unbelievable lie. You're just trying to protect your cousin—very touching, but pointless. The slave was to blame, whatever you two children did or didn't do. Leave me now and don't refer to this again if you don't want to make me seriously angry.”
So the encounter that had taken all Aurelia's courage came to nothing.
•••
It was no more difficult for Aurelia to find out where Julius was imprisoned than it had been for Marcus to get his information. The problem was contacting him without the knowledge of anyone who might betray her to her father.
In the end, it was her old nurse she turned to.
Aurelia was in the habit of visiting her in her small apartment at the back of the palace, so the nurse suspected nothing when her “dear little precious” came knocking.
Her visitor had brought her sweetmeats and some fresh grapes, and also a small jug of wine, which the nurse liked perhaps more than she should.
“Why, thank you, my little treasure!” She promptly poured herself a goblet of wine and quaffed it down, smacking her lips. “And how are you feeling today? Putting your troubles behind you, I hope?”
“No, Nurse. I'm still very unhappy.”
“Ah, when you were a little toddling thing, how easy it was to rub and kiss your hurts away! Come and get a kiss from your old nurse anyhow, and tell me all about it.”
Aurelia hugged her and sat close to her with her arm around her shoulders.
“Well, my sweet nurse, I've lost my pet tiger, but I don't complain of that. You know the boy who used to bring my tiger to see me?” The nurse sniffed disapprovingly, but nodded. “Father's very angry with him and has locked him up in chains. Of course, I know Father has good reasons and always acts justly, but … I happen to know that … that boy, Julius his name is, is the only support of his mother, and—I thought—it must be so hard on her, poor woman, to think of her only son in prison. I wonder if … I know you know the prison governor.”