But he had to be careful.
“I hope you realize,” Marcus's father frequently said to him, “what a privilege it is that you're invited to the palace to be the Lady Aurelia's companion. It's not every senator who's close enough to the Emperor to gain such favors! And how is the noble girl? How is she getting on with that beast of hers?”
“She's all right, and so is the ‘beast,’ as you call him. He's not much of a beast, though.”
“What do you mean? He's practically a full-grown tiger, I'm told!”
“Yes, but there's a bit of him that won't be growing with the rest, and that makes all the difference,” retorted Marcus with a smirk.
It took a moment for his father to grasp his meaning. Then he smiled.
“And how do you know that?”
“I find out things.”
“I suppose it's common gossip among the slaves that the animal had to be castrated. Well, and quite right too. The Emperor is too wise to take risks.”
“I think it's like a lie to pretend she's tamed a tiger when all she's tamed is a sort of half thing.”
“I don't notice you objecting to riding your gelding,” said his father. “I don't think you'd relish being put up on a stallion, not you, my boy, you're not enough of a rider. Yet,” he added, as he saw the boy turn pale and realized he had been too scathing. “You're young. When you come into your full strength, I'll give you a more challenging mount.”
That afternoon when Marcus went for his riding lesson he took a crop from the tack room and, when the riding master left the schooling ring for a moment, struck his horse, spurring it on and dragging on the reins at the same time so that the creature didn't know what was wanted of it and eventually reared him off. Marcus, who was not a coward, immediately remounted and rode round the ring at full gallop, lashing the horse all the way. The master reappeared, stood for a moment in astonishment, then sprang in front of the horse and grabbed the bridle, bringing the animal to such a sudden halt that Marcus came off again.
“What do you think you're doing?” the master asked furiously.
Marcus stood up, trying to control his breathing. “He's very high-spirited today,” said the boy. “He threw me off before. He wanted the devil run out of him, so I obliged him.”
“Your horse is one of the quietest in the stables! Why were you using a crop on him? You know I forbid it! Give it to me at once, and don't lay hands on it again until I give permission.”
Sullenly Marcus handed the crop over. “All right, the truth is I tried to beat a bit of life into him,” he said. “I'm bored with him, he's no fun to ride. Why can't I ride one of the stallions?”
“Because your father thinks you'll be safer on a gelding, and so do I. Now remount and let me see a collected canter.”
The hurt, the sting of humiliation, dug in a little deeper. They all treated him like a baby. He would show them. Or—no, not show them, not in an obvious way. That would be childish, and might get him into serious trouble. But he would do something to prove himself to himself, anyway.
Meanwhile, his visits to the palace continued and he behaved impeccably. He chatted and played with Aurelia and Boots, but all the while he was dreaming great dreams.
He thought what fun it would be if Aurelia were suddenly attacked. Of course, if that happened, Marcus would snatch Julius's sword—while Julius stood paralyzed with horror—and kill the tiger with one stroke, and rescue her. Ah, then! Nobody would treat him like a baby then. He would be a hero and the Emperor would reward him. Marcus never doubted he was capable of such a feat.
His other dreams were all of the circus. And these he half shared with Aurelia, because, in this one way, he was her superior. He had been to the circus, and she had not. Her father refused to take her until she was fourteen. He said the spectacle, proud as he was of it, was not for children. What he really meant—and she knew it—was that he was afraid she would be distressed by it, and perhaps blame him for her distress. Or perhaps show by some signs that she was too weak-minded to enjoy or even endure it. She was far too tenderhearted for her father's liking.
But Marcus's father had no such thoughts.
There was an ever-increasing number of feast days in the Roman calendar. The people, never sated with sensation and the excitement of bloodshed, demanded more and more. And on every feast day, Marcus begged his father to take him to the circus. It was by far his favorite pastime. There was nothing about it that he didn't love.
“You could never imagine it without seeing it!” he told Aurelia. “Of course, I sit in the best seats, the ones reserved for senators’ families. If you came, you'd sit in the Emperor's box, but nobody else has such good seats. The excitement, before anything happens! It's almost the best part! I get gooseflesh from the crowds, all jostling and shouting, getting really worked up before the show begins. I love looking at the arena. It's all covered with golden sand, fresh each time, as if nothing had ever happened before—raked and ready to soak up the blood.”
Aurelia would shudder. But she didn't stop him. There was something horribly fascinating about his recital that she was powerless to escape from.
“I know where the trapdoors are, by now,” he went on. “You wouldn't guess if you didn't know, they rake the sand over the edges so the crowd will get a shock when some wild beast leaps out! Of course, they don't use the same trapdoors each time. So I try to guess where they'll spring up from. And there are the big cage doors around the walls, at the sides. The gladiators and slaves and some of the animals come through those. There's always a parade first. Some of the animals that are tame, like the elephants and horses, and there's an old bear, too, are brought in and led around.
“Then the gladiators come in and march around the ring and salute the Emperor and the Empress, if they're there, and raise their fists to greet the crowd, and everyone shouts and cheers. You know what, Relia,” he said, glowing with the excitement of the telling, “there's nothing as thrilling as looking at a man, all glittering in his armor, showing his bravery, and knowing that you might see him killed, that in an hour or two he might be lying there dead. And he knows it, too. That's the strange thing.”
Aurelia gazed at him.
“They must be very brave, those gladiators,” she said once.
“Oh, yes, they're brave enough,” he'd replied. “They have to be, they're fighting for their lives, often against each other. What I sometimes think of is, what's happened before? I mean, not right before, but I mean they live together while they're training, maybe they've made friends, and then there they are in the ring and they've got to try to kill each other.”
“I wouldn't make friends with anyone if I might have to kill them,” said Aurelia. “I'd keep myself all to myself and not even look at any of the others. I wouldn't possibly be able to fight anyone anyway, but if I were a man and I had to, I couldn't do it if—if I liked them.”
“Yes,” said Marcus. “You're right. You'd have to think of them as your mortal enemies. You couldn't be friends with them.”
“Do you think they ever have anything to do with the animals—before they meet them in the circus?” “What d'you mean, anything to do with them?” “Well, they might get … fond of one, and then—” “Oh, come on!” crowed Marcus. “You mean, make a pet of one, like you do with your Bootsie? Of course not! If they did, the animal wouldn't fight them. Think what a scandal that would be!”
“I think,” said Aurelia slowly, “that that would be the most wonderful thing that had ever happened in the circus, since it began.”
Boots was now an impressive sight. He was fully grown, sleek and plump and beautiful, and as tame and contented as any house cat. When Marcus (who longed to be tall, but never would be) stood beside him, the tiger came almost to his armpit. Marcus was confident enough now to put his arm across the striped back and tickle the thickly padded ribs, which Aurelia allowed. Boots would sometimes lean against the boy in a friendly way, and then he had to brace his feet or the great weight of the t
iger would have pushed him over.
Marcus decided Aurelia was practically in love with the thing.
“Isn't he marvelous!” she kept cooing. “Isn't he the handsomest creature in the whole world?” She would crouch in front of the tiger and take his great whiskery face between her hands and kiss his nose and sometimes, when she fed him tidbits, put her hand right into his mouth to show how tame he was. When he lay at full length on the ground, Aurelia would sometimes sit astride him and dig her hands into the fur along his neck, kneading him to make him purr. Marcus smiled outwardly and sneered inwardly. If Boots were a real tiger!
“She who rides a tiger dares not dismount.” Someone had said that in Marcus's hearing, and one day he repeated it to Aurelia.
She looked at him sharply to see if he was mocking her, more than just the little bit of teasing that she allowed.
“I can dare anything with my darling Boots,” she said.
“Would you dare take his boots off?”
She started a little, and looked down at his sheathed feet. Larger pouches had been made for him as he grew. But they were still there. She hardly noticed them anymore. But suddenly she saw them as a token that she didn't trust him.
“Of course I would! He would never hurt me!” she said.
“Go on, then. Off with them.”
She turned and beckoned to Julius, standing, as ever, watchfully in the shadows.
“Julius! I want these foot covers taken off,” she ordered.
“No, my lady.”
“What do you mean, no? I say yes! You don't mean you think he would claw me now that he's so tame and loving?”
Julius came and crouched at her side as she sat on the floor by the tiger.
“You think he has lost a tiger's nature?”
“Yes. No. I don't know. I just know I want him not to wear those things.”
Julius looked at her for some time. Longer than he should have. She held his eyes with the steady look of command that she'd been born to.
“Very well, I must show you. Watch,” he said.
He lay on his stomach facing Boots and began to growl softly in his throat, staring straight into the tiger's golden eyes.
The tiger stared back for a moment. Then he dropped his eyes, and backed away on his belly.
“You see? Even when you're saying bad things to him, he doesn't want to hurt you!” said Aurelia triumphantly.
But Julius just went on snarling softly, edging forward after the retreating tiger, his eyes fastened to him, the growling getting louder. Suddenly Marcus and Aurelia heard something neither expected—an answering growl, an angry rumbling deep in Boots's chest. They saw his lips wrinkle and curl away from his teeth, which, even without his fangs, were still formidable. They saw the fur on his shoulders rise, his hindquarters begin to lift from the ground, and the tip of his long tail begin to twitch like a thing with its own life.
“Julius! Don't!”
But it was too late. Boots was remembering himself. Instinct, deeper than memory, taught him to recognize challenge and threat. Before Julius could jump upright and dominate the animal, the tiger had leaped on him and sunk his teeth into Julius's shoulder.
“Boots!” Aurelia tried to scream, but her voice came out in a squeak.
She was on her feet in an instant and, without a moment's hesitation, grabbed the jeweled collar and threw her full weight backward.
The tiger and the man were writhing on the marble floor. Julius had his arms up against the tiger's throat. There was blood…. Marcus sat as one paralyzed.
“Marcus! Help me! Help me!”
Marcus came to himself, jumped up, and grasped, not the collar, but Aurelia's waist. Together they dragged on Boots's throat till he felt his air cut off, felt himself choking.
The tiger let go. Julius rolled over and over to get away from those teeth, leaving a trail of blood across the white marble. Aurelia clung to the collar with both small hands, terrified to let go. Marcus clung to her, his face hidden against her back.
“Julius! Are you all right?”
He sat up, clutching his shoulder. He shook his head sharply to clear it of the numbness of shock and pain, and then, glancing round, saw what was happening. In two seconds he was on his feet and at the tiger's side.
One touch, one masterful word from him in an upright position and Boots was cowed. He crouched down, fearful and subdued. Aurelia slowly unclenched her hands. The jewels that studded the leather collar were imprinted whitely in her palms.
Her eyes were on Julius, who was calmly applying the apron of antelope skin he wore over his tunic to his injured shoulder and pressing hard. Aurelia shakily clapped her hands to summon a serving maid.
“Fetch a surgeon at once,” she said.
The girl looked at the blood on the floor and gasped. She was about to run on her errand, when Aurelia stopped her. As if it were a scene in a play, she had a sudden fore-image of what might happen.
“Wait. Come here.” The girl crept a few steps closer. “I do not want my parents to know of this. Do you understand? When you fetch the surgeon, order him to tell no one.”
The girl hesitated. It could cost her dearly to keep secrets from her master. Julius very well understood this, and dared to intervene.
“Princess, it will be better if you don't send for anyone. The wounds are not deep—see, the bleeding is stopping. I'll get it attended to by my mother, she has some skill in medicine.” He raised his eyes to her face. “Believe me, if you want to keep the tiger, it will be better.”
Aurelia was staring at Boots. She was seeing him as she had never seen him. Julius was right. He could be dangerous. Did she want to keep him? Did she?
“Go,” she said to the girl. “Fetch no one. Say nothing. Bring water to wash the floor.”
The girl vanished. Aurelia went close to Julius—closer than she had ever been. She could smell his skin, could see the wounds on his shoulder up close. For a moment she felt them in her own flesh.
“Let me bind it for you till you get home,” she said softly.
He was helpless to refuse her. She made him sit down on the rim of the pool, tore a strip from the loose part at the top of his tunic, and clumsily but carefully bound up the bite. He stared over her head, his teeth clenched, but not because of the pain. Her closeness was so distracting that he felt no pain at all. He felt the tickle of her hair under his chin as she worked. He smelled the scent of it and closed his eyes tightly. Let me feel the pain! Any pain, but not this pain! The thought forced itself through his fear-filled brain.
Marcus watched with narrowed eyes. He had once watched his mother attend to a bee sting on his father's neck. Just so had she bent over him, while his father sat very still, very aware, his mother tenderly and carefully pressing the sting out and asking if she were causing him more hurt. … Marcus had grown up recognizing the signs of love. He saw them now.
If Caesar had so much as an inkling of this! A raging tiger would be less dangerous then!
Aurelia to the Circus
BRUTE S TIME HAD COME.
His trainer knew it, and told him, fairly glowing with a ferocious pride, as if he'd built the tiger—bones, sinews, fangs, and claws—with his own hands. Brute understood nothing of the two-legs’ mouth-noises, but he sensed the man's excitement and urgings and knew a change was coming. And the other animals in the dark, noisome caves un-der the ground sensed it. They sent their uneasy warning signals, especially the old bear, who had seen it all and knew when a fighting animal's time approached.
The signals should have made Brute fearful, but they didn't. They set his fur on end—that prickly, alert, thrilling sensation, a good feeling—and made his tongue drip. He paced his cage vigorously, and even ignored the scraps of meat that were given to him to whet his appetite. He needed nothing to spur him on. He wanted to go up there, where instinct told him death awaited—not his own, but his natural enemies’. His will to pounce, to rend, bite, and tear, was fully aroused, seasoned, and seethin
g for outlet.
As Aurelia's thirteenth birthday approached, Marcus decided it was time his playmate lost her circus innocence.
He spoke to his father, who in turn ventured to speak to Caesar during an unusually informal moment when they were together at the baths. Both were naked but for towels, and lying side by side on stone benches, pouring sweat caused by the heating beneath the floors, while slaves massaged their muscles and used scrapers to clean their skin.
“That impertinent youngster of mine thinks it's time your daughter was given the greatest experience in the known world,” the senator mentioned, as the masseur pum-meled him.
The Emperor didn't need to ask what that might be. Everyone knew what the greatest treat in the world was. He grunted, turned his head away, and said nothing at first. The senator waited. Marcus had already given him hints that the reason Aurelia had never been to the circus was because her father feared she was too sensitive—not a quality appropriate to an emperor's daughter.
“He could be right,” said the great man at last. “She is nearly thirteen. No longer a child … She has to go sometime, or people will begin to wonder. It's her mother, of course. I'm afraid she may have put Aurelia off. The Empress actually has no feeling for the spectacle…. But truly, it is a thing to be done sometime soon.” He rolled his head to face the senator. “What would you say to a birthday outing next week—we two, and the two youngsters? Would it please young Marcus to sit in the Imperial Box?”
The senator drew in his breath at the honor.
“He would like nothing better! Thank you.”
“They are good friends, are they not?”
“My son considers the Lady Aurelia his closest friend. He deeply admires her.”
Caesar said, only half jocularly, “In a respectful way, I hope.”
“Great gods, of course! He talks of her in terms of the deepest respect.” This was somewhat remote from the truth—Marcus, in the privacy of his home, often had to be rebuked for a spiteful tongue—but it was vitally important for the senator to put any thoughts of disrespect to rest.
Tiger, Tiger Page 5
