She had been right, though. The sounds were as frightful as the sights, not least the baying of the crowd around her. The smells were also bad—the sweat of unholy excitement, and blood. Her imagination worked so vividly that the pictures she saw behind her eyelids seemed, after a long time, as bad as anything her eyes might see, so she opened them.
The full clearing-away operation was not quite complete. She saw the hyenas, bloody-mouthed, being driven back through the gate by a hoard of slaves armed with whips and spears. Only two of the camels were left alive. They were clearly in a state of terror, rearing up, their heads thrown back, uttering gurgling cries of fear. Men were recapturing them with ropes. The crowd, which had gone noisily wild during the butchery, were now sinking back, satisfied, with smiling faces, exchanging remarks with their neighbors.
Aurelia looked about her, dazed. What's wrong with them? she thought. They really like it! They don't care that all those beautiful creatures have been hurt or killed! She had a terrible, sick feeling that if this went on, and if she stayed here until it was over, she would never be able to feel the same about her fellow citizens again, and with this thought her mood slipped into one of abject dismay.
There followed several more man-to-man fights of different kinds, with different weapons. An armed gladiator was set on by four muscular unarmed men, who, by circling him and wrestling ferociously, managed to disarm him, but he had already killed one and wounded another, and Caesar was moved to spare him. The dead man was dragged out by the feet, leaving a long scrape in the sand. In another bout, two men armed only with short swords fought each other until one was laid low—whether dead or not, Aurelia couldn't tell. The winner received plaudits from the crowd and his life from Caesar's upturned thumb because the fight had lasted fully fifteen thrilling minutes.
There followed an interval, during which the sand in the arena was raked, and a large number of palm trees and other vegetation in containers were carried in and arranged to give the impression of a jungle.
“This is the big one!” exclaimed Marcus at her side. “You wait! It's the turn of the wild beasts. Now we'll really see something! Aren't you enjoying it?” he added, looking at her pale face and clenched hands.
“Oh, yes, very much,” she replied politely, like a child at a party, unlocking her tense fingers to adjust her païïa. “I'm so pleased I came.” He looked at her doubtfully for a minute, but sarcasm was lost on him and he believed her, and was a little disappointed. He had half hoped she would start screaming and swooning, so that he could show his manly superiority.
Eight or nine men dressed as hunters, armed with swords, staves, and spears, emerged from the side gates and began prowling through the greenery, as if searching for game. Some had nets, and others pretended to dig traps, which were really the trapdoors that opened from below. These “traps” were covered with sticks and leaves as if to disguise them, and the hunters lurked in the false undergrowth.
“Who are these men? Are they gladiators without their armor?” asked Aurelia.
“No, no,” Julius said. “They're not valuable fighters at all, they're probably criminals, or captives taken in foreign wars.” He looked at them with a professional eye. They were quite tall—and some were fair. “They're probably Britons or people from the far northern lands. Our army is always sending back such slaves, and the strongest of them end up in the circus, where if they're lucky and fight bravely they might earn their freedom.”
“Could you?” she asked with a sudden quickening of interest. “Could you win your freedom in the arena, Julius?”
“No, Princess,” he said. “I'm afraid I'm no fighter.”
Again, a suspenseful hush fell on the thousands of spectators as they waited avidly to see what would happen.
Aurelia waited too. She kept her eyes open now. The mood of high tension around her affected her and put her on the edge of her seat. She couldn't help it—though with a sense of dread, she wanted to know what would happen as much as Marcus, who leaned forward against the rail with his teeth clenched, breathing heavily in anticipation.
Julius was also leaning forward. He forgot his duty to cough. His eyes were fixed on a particular spot in the middle of the “jungle.” He imagined the tiger standing on the mechanical lift that would hoist him close to the surface. Any second now—
And suddenly—so suddenly that the whole crowd of forty thousand people reacted at once and many leaped to their feet—from out of that very door in the floor of the arena shot a tawny streak like a long flame. It appeared facing the Imperial Box, so that its open, roaring mouth looked like a red wound with small, sharp, deadly bones glistening in it. Aurelia sat spellbound—paralyzed, as this apparition, moving with incredible speed, lashed out seemingly in every direction at once, and in moments three of the “hunters” lay sprawled amid the false jungle. One had his stomach ripped open and its contents spilled onto the sand.
One of the women in the Imperial Box screamed.
Julius forgot himself. He took Aurelia in his arms and pulled her face against him.
The tiger hadn't finished yet. As the “hunters,” totally unnerved and terrified, tried to flee, he sprang after them and soon two more were dragged down, though they still tried desperately to crawl away. The disemboweled one was screaming … And the noises from the crowd were no longer wholeheartedly enthusiastic. There were more screams, and Julius saw that several women in the crowd nearby were fainting.
Meanwhile the slaughter in the arena went on. Brute was savaging every two-legs that he could reach.
Three or four hurled themselves at the barrier, twice the height of a man, which separated the arena from the audience, and tried to clamber up it. This made the crowd laugh. Several of the more heroic forcibly checked their flight, hid behind trees, and hurled their spears at the tiger, but they were so unnerved by his furious assault that they missed their aim. A spear that whistled past him— reminding him of his trainer's proddings—simply enraged him more, so that he pursued the thrower in an avenging bound, and tore out his throat.
But after a few minutes of frenzied whirling, pouncing, rending, and clawing, Brute's killing urge left him. He remembered his hunger, lay down—but warily—beside his first victim, and began to eat the man's entrails.
Marcus vomited over the rail.
Caesar rose to his feet. He was so hypnotized by the spectacle that (luckily for Julius, who was still clutching the princess to him) he glanced neither left nor right, but only below at the tiger, surrounded by bloody carnage, devouring his prey. The Emperor held up his arm and gestured. Instantly, armored keepers appeared (including Caius) and bore down on the tiger, who got up and faced them, snarling and roaring defiance. But there were too many of them. With outstretched nets, noise-making implements, shouts, and sharp-pointed spears, they drove him back and back till he reached one of the iron gates, which was raised and then lowered swiftly behind him.
Immediately afterward, the clearing slaves rushed out from the side gates with grappling hooks and rakes and ropes, and began to clean up the scene. It took a lot longer than usual, and while it was going on a few members of the crowd began to leave. The show was not over—their favorite, the old bear, hadn't appeared yet—but some even of the tough-minded, bloodthirsty Romans had had enough.
Julius suddenly came to himself and let Aurelia go. She fell back in her seat, her eyes glazed. Marcus was slumped beside her, gray-faced. The upper lip he had so manfully ordered to be scraped that morning was now beaded with the sweat of nausea.
“Marcus!” gasped Aurelia faintly. “You hated it too! You were sick—I saw you!”
He couldn't deny it. He just closed his eyes and swallowed bile. His mouth felt disgusting and his stomach still heaved. After a moment, he turned to his father.
“I want to go home,” he said.
The senator said nothing. He was disgusted with his son. Showing weakness in such a childish way—in the Emperor's presence! He'd never live it down.
&
nbsp; “Please, Pata,” begged Marcus. His voice went shrill. “I'm tired. I've had enough!”
“Be quiet, Marcus,” ordered his father sternly. “Pull yourself together! We can't leave before the Emperor.”
But Aurelia was under no such restraint.
“I'm tired, too,” she said, standing up unsteadily. “Pata, I'm going home. Julius will accompany me.” She looked at Marcus's gray face and took pity on him. “I want Marcus to come with us.”
Her father cast a disappointed glance at her. He was afraid the occasion had been spoiled by the excesses of that one beast. “The show is not over …,” he began uncertainly.
“It is for me,” Aurelia said, and before anyone could stop her, she slipped to the back of the box and out through the long covered passage to the exterior of the Colosseum, with Marcus and Julius in her wake. Suddenly she checked her steps and, turning abruptly, ran back up into the box. She hurried to her father's side and bent to whisper in his ear.
“Pata! You won't punish the tiger, will you? I—I liked him, truly I did! He was magnificent!”
“You silly girl, do you think I'd have such a rare and valuable beast killed?” said her father testily. “Tigers are not like lions, of which we have plenty. There are only two in the whole of Rome, and one of them as you well know will never appear in the arena. That wonderful killing machine you saw today is unique.” He turned his regal head and looked at her sternly. “If you had the least idea of the cost of catching and bringing that tiger here, you wouldn't trouble to plead for its life—especially as it's just made a name for itself that will be round the city in hours. It's worth far more than the few slaves it kills.”
Aurelia straightened up slowly, looking down at the arena, where the corpses and the blood had finally been cleared away.
“Of course, Pata,” she said in a flat voice. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize.”
At that moment the old bear, the final act of the day, appeared through one of the side gates. Aurelia glanced un-seeingly at the huge shambling animal, but she didn't wait to see it go through its weary tricks, restoring the old carefree spirit to the great audience. She returned home in the Emperor's open carriage with her cousin and the young keeper, and none of them spoke a word on the way, each occupied by their own thoughts.
The Trick
AFTER THAT DAY, many things changed, but they changed inwardly On the surface, life for Aurelia, Marcus, Julius, and the two tigers went on very much as before—for the time being.
Aurelia showed her father the respect that was due to him. But her heart was turned from him. She no longer threw herself into his arms or called him Pata, affectionately When she had to address him she called him Father. He noticed, but it was beneath his dignity to comment on it, and if he spoke about it to his wife she wasn't able (or willing) to give him any explanation. So he decided to put the change down to growing maturity in his daughter.
Julius's love for the princess grew day by day. Since he had held her in his arms he ached to hold her again. The little head he had pressed protectively to his chest had left an invisible imprint there that called insistently to be filled. He knew this love was hopeless and very dangerous, and he tried to fight it, but it took possession of him until all he had strength for was to conceal it from everyone but himself.
Marcus hardly knew how to deal with the aftermath of that fateful day at the circus. He had proved himself not a man, but a weakling, whose stomach couldn't stand the sight of some real carnage. She had not vomited. She had retained her dignity, had been cool and calm, had led the way out of the box, and, all the way back to Caesar's palace in the carriage, had sat erect, pale, but apparently in complete control. For weeks afterward Marcus lacked the courage to visit the palace. He didn't know how to come to terms with what had happened. And his father was furious with him too.
“You disgraced yourself” was all he said. But it was enough. Marcus was crushed. In the end the only way he found to deal with his personal disaster was to push it behind him and pretend it hadn't happened. He didn't want to visit the circus ever again. But it didn't help him to feel better that his father stopped taking him there.
And the tigers?
Brute was now a celebrity. Caesar had been quite right in predicting that his fame would quickly spread to all quarters of the city, and that the hope of seeing him “perform” would guarantee that there was not an empty seat in the Colosseum for months after his debut. But Brute was unaware that he'd done anything extraordinary. He had followed his instincts and his training and had killed as a tiger must kill when he is hungry and furious. That this orgy of killing was followed by praise and tidbits from the two-legs made little impression. Brute's life was still hateful, still confined, still miserable and unnatural. He still craved what every wild beast knows is its true destiny—freedom to hunt and mate and conceal itself and live out its life amid the sounds and smells of the wild.
On the fairly rare occasions when he was allowed into the arena, Brute killed again—not perhaps with the spectacular ferocity of the first time, but from the point of view of the spectators, satisfactorily enough. He developed, as man-eaters will, a taste for human flesh, which added to his enthusiasm for the occasions when he was allowed to hunt down and eat two-legged prey, and maintained his growing reputation as the sanguinary star of the circus.
Only for Boots, nothing changed. His fortunate, pampered life continued. Catlike, he was content with enough to eat, comfortable sleeping quarters, and the petting and affection of his mistress. He no longer missed his brother or the beautiful, savage world he had been bred in. If things had continued as they were, he might have lived out this placid, unnatural life until he died of old age.
But there were cataclysms ahead for him—for all of them.
•••
After about a month, Aurelia began to feel uneasy about Marcus's not coming to the palace to be with her. Though she would never have admitted it, she began to miss him. There had been that moment, at the circus—seeing him disgraced in all eyes but hers—when she had warmed to him. Besides, she was lonely; she was allowed so few friends.
Her mother had noticed Marcus's absence too.
“Why doesn't Marcus come anymore, cara?”
Aurelia shrugged, her eyes on the ground.
“Have you quarreled?”
“No.”
“Well? Oh, come, Aurelia, something must have happened! He used to visit all the time.”
“I think … I think he's embarrassed.”
“What about?”
“About—about what happened that day Father took me to the Colosseum.” Her mother waited. “There was a tiger that killed … a lot of people, and Marcus got sick.”
“Ah. That wretched tiger! It seems to be all anyone can talk about. Last night at Drusilla's party everyone was describing …” She rolled her eyes. “Too disgusting, I had to retire to the vomitorium. Poor boy, actually seeing it—who can wonder? But in front of his father, and yours … What a blow to his pride!” She brooded for a few moments. Then she said, “You know, cara mia, I think it might make a nice gesture if you went to visit him.”
“Me visit him? But—”
“Yes, I know. It's irregular. You are socially above him and he should come to you. But there are times when those in high positions show nobility of spirit by stooping to those beneath them. Come, don't you think you could? He is your cousin, after all.”
“He's a pest.”
“That's not genteel, Aurelia,” said her mother reprovingly. “Now, I want you to do this, and I will arrange it. But you needn't mention it to your father. He has such strong ideas about protocol.” She rose to leave, but stopped. “Why do you call him Father now, instead of Pata?”
Aurelia was silent for a long minute. Then she said, “I don't feel to call him Pata anymore.”
Her mother stared at her. “Is this, too, something to do with your visit to the circus?”
Aurelia looked at the ground and nodded. br />
There was another long silence. Then her mother drew a deep breath, and became brisk. “I understand. But you'll get over it.” She nearly added, As I did. But that would have been to admit too much. Her union with Caesar was not as perfect as she wished people to believe.
The visit was arranged discreetly, between the two mothers, who were sisters. Aurelia went along with it, on one condition.
“I want Boots to come with me.”
“Cara! Is that kind? A tiger, after what happened? Might it not seem to Marcus that you are rubbing his nose in his humiliation?”
Aurelia was startled. “But Mata! Boots isn't a tiger like that other one!” She shuddered. “Marcus knows that. He likes Boots. He'll want to see him. And maybe—I mean, playing with Boots may help him to get over … what he saw.”
Some more discreet negotiations passed between the mothers. Marcus's mother, after consideration, agreed with Aurelia.
“One doesn't want Marcus to develop an exaggerated, unmanly fear of wild animals,” she said. “I think it might be good for him to play with that tame creature. Of course, the keeper boy must come too. I know he has complete control over the animal. For my part,” she confided, “I'm terrified of the things. Did you hear, by the way, what happened at the circus last week? That ferocious animal ripped a man's arm right—” She saw her companion turn deathly pale. “Oh, my dear sister, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it!”
Marcus was overjoyed when he was told that Aurelia was coming. He'd never entertained her at his house before, and he had his servants and slaves running around in circles, getting ready for the visit.
“Everything has to be perfect! Clean the floor again—I see a bird dropping! She may take that for a bad omen. Bring more cushions for the couches. And food, and drink. I want the best fruit juices and sweetmeats for her. And for the tiger, some delicious meat—quail—yes, good, he loves game birds.” His mother had to intervene to put a brake on his stream of orders.