Tiger, Tiger

by Lynne Reid Banks

  He rolled over swiftly and stood up, sniffing this new addition to his body. He didn't like it. He caught the stuff in his teeth and tried to pull it off, but he couldn't. It fitted tightly around his legs and was too strong to tear.

  He rolled and rubbed and bit, but it was useless. The young two-legs watched him, and, when he could, scratched the cub's ears.

  “Get used to it, friend. You're a shod tiger now, and you must wear them till you learn good manners. Till you can be trusted.”

  “If that day ever comes!” said one of the others.

  But the cub understood only that when he tried to walk he couldn't properly feel the ground under his feet and learn from it. He didn't yet know that he couldn't use his claws. But when his day's meat was brought to him, he found out. He was used to pinning the meat down with his claws and chewing chunks off it. But this meat was in small pieces. He didn't realize that it was cut up because his jaws ached too much to chew properly. All he knew was that he couldn't hold it, he couldn't rend it…. He was no longer whole, no longer what he had been. What he knew he was meant to be. He was muffled. He was less.

  When he was taken to the female two-legs, he was already angry.

  She took one look at him and began to make a mouth-noise.

  “Oh, look! He's got boots on!”

  “Yes, Princess. It was Caesar's orders when he heard that you'd forbidden us to draw his claws.”

  She capered about joyfully.

  “I couldn't think of a name for him, but now I have it! I'll call him Boots!”

  The cub named Boots without knowing he'd been named watched her, surprised because she whirled like a peacock. She had no tail but she had something like a tail, that sparkled and flared. She made a noise rather like a peacock too. But she still looked like a big monkey to him, and she smelled good. He sensed she wasn't as strong as the males. He thought he would like to eat her. But only if the male two-legs wasn't there to put his hand on the cub's neck and stop him.

  But the big two-legs didn't go away. He stayed.

  He took the cub out of the cage. The cub liked being held by the two-legs. It made him feel very safe. It was strange, smelling his food smell and, at the same time, liking to be held close to him. The anger was still there because of what had been put on his feet. But he already knew better than to bite the male two-legs. The puzzling thing was that he no longer wanted to.

  That day he learned to play.

  Of course, he had played before, with his brother. But not for a long time. Not during the bad time in the dark, rocking place. They had been too fearful and wretched. But now he remembered that it was good to chase something that rolled along the ground, to catch it and leap with it, knocking it into the air and batting it with his paws. He almost forgot they were muffled.

  The female two-legs made the peacock noise and the rain-on-leaves noise with her front feet. She crouched down and made the same sound over and over again: “Boots! Boots!” He sensed she wanted him to come to her, and he wanted to go. At first he was too timid, but then the male two-legs picked him up and put him down close to her. She smelled good, and her paws when she touched him were knowing and cunning amid his fur, scratching and stroking in ways that made him squirm and lie on his back and rumble deep in his chest. He had a vague memory of the rough tongue and the warm flanks and the nipple that filled his mouth with sweet flowing power.

  He hadn't forgotten his brother, either.

  And his brother hadn't forgotten him.

  The bigger, stronger cub was not frolicking with a tender, laughing female two-legs, being fed tidbits of meat in a pleasant sunlit open place. He was in a dark, bad-smelling, closed-in place, under the ground.

  He knew he was under the ground because he had been carried, in his cage, down a long flight of steps into dimness and coldness. He growled and snarled all the way and tried to reach through the bars to claw the bodies of those who carried him, but he couldn't. At last he was released from the cage. The front of it was raised by some invisible agent and he came out with one bound—only to find his way blocked by cold black stone. There was a clang behind him as bars came down.

  His thoughts were all confusion, rage, frustration. His stomach churned and threw up bitterness into his mouth. He clawed the hard, stopping walls. It was useless.

  At last he stopped. He put his front paws onto the wall and stretched his neck, but he couldn't see anything beyond.

  He had never felt so alone in his life. He had never been alone, till now. He whined miserably.

  A coarse, loud voice shouted, “Quiet, you little brute, or I'll give you something to howl for!” The threat in it was unmistakable. The bigger cub urinated with fear, then found a corner, pressed himself tight to the cold wall, and lay down.

  He didn't sleep. He was too nervous. He shivered and all his striped fur stood on end. There had been something in that voice that filled him with dread.

  For several days no two-legs came near him. He could hear them, at a distance, shouting. His food was pushed between the bars at the front of his prison on the end of long poles, while the cub clawed and gnawed it. As the days passed he lost condition and became listless with misery.

  Two days went by without any food. And then the teasing started.

  The cub sensed something bad was going to happen when a two-legs came into the dark place and made sounds that were the same as the shouting from afar. Unlike his brother, this cub had never had kindness from a two-legs, and all he knew of them was that they were the all-powerful source of food, and fear.

  This two-legs, very big and very threatening, stood over him as he lay in the corner he had chosen as a sleeping place. The cub didn't know the nature of the threat but he knew he was afraid and helpless. He held himself alert as he lay with his head on his forepaws.

  “Get up, you,” growled the two-legs. And it was a growl, deep in his throat, the sort of growl tigers make. It was almost the language the cub understood. The words meant nothing but the threat was clear. He didn't move.

  The man prodded him sharply with something he carried.

  The cub lifted his head and snapped at the thing that had hurt him. But it wasn't there anymore.

  “Get up,” the two-legs growled again.

  When the cub still didn't move, the two-legs jabbed him again. This time the sharp thing nearly pierced his hide. He jumped up with a snarl of pain and swiped at the thing with his claws. It went away, came back, jabbed again, was snatched away before the cub could seize it.

  The cub was infuriated. He crouched, ready to spring at his tormentor. But he couldn't, because a volley of small jabs kept him at bay.

  “Come on, you little pig's whelp, you miserable mangy little runt! Spring at me! Just try it! You'll never make the arena, you weakling! Come on, coward, what are you waiting for?” The threatening voice went on and on, daring him, ordering him, provoking him, rousing him for battle— but always keeping him off, prodding him back. At last the cub, infuriated beyond bearing, did leap, full at the sharpened stick, not even seeing it in his blind rage. It didn't pierce him. It vanished, as the man leaped aside and the cub dropped to the ground.

  “Good,” said the two-legs. “Good. Now you're learning.”

  He gave him a piece of meat and went away.

  So. That was it. He was supposed to spring. If he sprang, the sharp thing would not hurt him. It would only hurt and torment him if he did not spring. If he sprang, he would get meat.

  Thus the little tiger began to absorb the lessons that prepared him for his destiny.

  Aurelia's mother and father came to visit her several days after Boots's first appearance.

  It was unusual for the Emperor and Empress to visit their daughter together. The Emperor was an intensely busy man and had all too little time for his youngest child (Aurelia had two older brothers, already away in the army). But that didn't mean he was not devoted to her. Aurelia was the decoration on his life, his sweet reward after the essential sons, both tr
oublesome and hard to love. He was conscious of his duty toward her now she was nearing womanhood, but left the details to his wife.

  Except that now he had sent his child a daring and extraordinary present, which his wife fiercely opposed.

  “Are you mad, Septimus?” she had railed. “A wild animal! Supposing it hurts her!”

  “I have given orders. It won't hurt her.”

  “But why? Why take the slightest risk?”

  She'd stood before him, her fists clenched, her face pale. This youngest child was the dearest of all to her, after two sons whom she had never been allowed to be close to. The Emperor drew her down beside him and unlocked her fingers.

  “Our daughter is as much the child of Caesar as her brothers. She too must be brave and proud. Would you have her play tamely with caged birds and goldfish forever? She must show her mettle. She'll teach the tiger to be gentle, and he will teach her to be strong.”

  The Empress stared at him. She knew what was in his mind. He was already imagining Aurelia going about the city in her carriage with a tiger at her side, her hand on its head, the people gazing at her in awe. See! Caesar's daughter rides with a tiger and is not afraid!

  For several days Caesar had let his thoughts stray to Aurelia more than usual. How had she received his gift? It was possible that she might have rejected it. She had a will of her own. Besides, many young girls would be afraid of having a wild beast for a pet. He needed to know that his daughter had responded to the challenge as he wished her to.

  When he heard that she had objected to the drawing of the animal's claws, he tasted uncertainty, even alarm. But the animal keeper had the solution: leather pouches that would enclose the cub's feet and keep his child safe. Better! Much better. He sent a purse of coins to the slave as a reward for his initiative.

  Now he stayed away from the Senate for an hour to accompany his wife on her regular morning visit to their daughter and her new companion. They were accompanied by a middle-aged woman who had been Aurelia's nurse when she was younger, and who now lived in retirement in the palace and assumed privileges that no one had given her. She was entirely on the Empress's side.

  “It's not right, Your Honor, not right at all! How can it be right to give a young girl a wild beast as a pet? The gods made wild animals to be rugs and wall hangings, not playmates!”

  Caesar didn't bother answering her. The woman had been a palace fixture since she'd been engaged as a wet nurse when Aurelia was born, and she had been interfering and even criticizing ever since. He hardly heard her prattle anymore. He was looking eagerly ahead of him as they entered the courtyard.

  There they were, already frolicking together. The cub in his leather protectors was crouched in the sunlight, his striped fur glowing boldly, his head on his stretched-out front paws, his hindquarters raised and shifting to and fro, watching intently while the girl drew a string with a tuft of cloth on its end across the floor. His haunches quivered twice—then he pounced. She jerked the lure away just in time. The cub crouched, quivered, pounced again, and this time he got his muffled front paws on the thing, and a moment later, had bitten it off its string and was flinging it in the air.

  A young man stood in the shadow of an overhanging roof. His eyes never left the cub.

  “Who is that boy?” asked the nurse.

  “The keeper, of course.”

  “Did Your Honor give permission for him to be alone with my young lady?” she asked sharply.

  “Yes, yes,” the Emperor said irritably. “Why not? She must have someone with her until we are sure the creature is tame. In any case, all her servants are close at hand.”

  This wasn't entirely true. Aurelia's personal staff— chiefly female—were in hiding. They were frightened of Boots, even if Aurelia wasn't. In the event of a mishap they would have been quite useless. The Empress, suddenly alerted by the nurse's questions, guessed that.

  “I want there to be guards. Not just that boy. Older men, with weapons.”

  The Emperor hesitated. He was watching with satisfaction and pride the fearless way the princess was now chasing the cub, trying to wrest the toy back from him. She held it boldly in both hands, close to his mouth, and tugged it while the cub growled playfully and braced his big, covered feet.

  “Whatever you wish, my love. Give what orders you think fit. Of course we should take no chances.”

  “Of any sort,” murmured the nurse, her eyes on the young keeper's well-muscled torso and handsome, bronzed face.

  Caesar walked out of the shadows into the sunlight. Aurelia saw him and ran to him. The moment her back was turned to the cub he began to stalk her. The young keeper instantly leaped forward to put his hand restrainingly on the cub's neck.

  “Pata! Thank you! He is wonderful. I love him so much!”

  “And you're not afraid of him?”

  “Not a bit!” She turned in her father's arms. “Oh, do look at him, how sweet he is! And I've named him Boots. What do you think of that?”

  Caesar laughed. “An excellent choice,” he said.

  The nurse sniffed and folded her arms. “Silly name for a tiger,” she muttered.

  “Oh, Nurse, don't be against him! Come and stroke him!”

  “I will not. I am not foolish, whatever others may be,” she said.

  “Caesar, may I speak?” said the keeper, after bowing.

  “Yes, what is it?” asked the Emperor.

  “He needs a collar.”

  “Oh, yes!” cried Aurelia. “A beautiful one, with jewels on it! And I need a lead for him, too!”

  “Well thought of.” Caesar clapped his hands, and at once one of his own slaves, who always attended him, ran forward.

  “A collar for my daughter's tiger. Bejeweled, as she said. Order it from the leather shop. A leash, too. Tooled with gold leaf.” He hugged Aurelia tightly. He couldn't restrain his pride at the success of his gift, at the princess's courageous receiving of it.

  The Empress watched the scene, narrow-eyed, anxious. The tiger cub already looked large and menacing in her eyes. She still thought the whole thing was folly of the worst kind. She exchanged glances of anxiety with the nurse.

  But apart from engaging guards, there was nothing she could do.

  Visits

  “BOOTS! Yes, that silly name just suits him. He's not a tiger, not him! He's a pussycat. Here, puss puss puss! Here, tiggy-wiggy-woggy, come and play pussy games with Relia!”

  Aurelia's eyes narrowed dangerously.

  She was entertaining—most unwillingly—a “friend,” ex-cept that he wasn't, he was a stupid little bore and a maddening nuisance. His name was Marcus and he was her ten-year-old cousin.

  “Don't tease him,” she ordered sharply, as the cub showed signs of being about to investigate Marcus's wriggling fingers, pretending to be a large spider scuttling on the floor.

  “I will tease him, and you too,” said Marcus. “What've you done to him? Call that a wild animal? He's about as fierce as one of your silly birds. Tweet-tweet, Bootsie, come to Pata!” The cub obligingly pounced on the “spider” and sank his teeth into it. But carefully. He knew better by now than to bite seriously. One or two hard bites, in the early days, had resulted in sharp blows on the head and scoldings from his keeper.

  Still, even a gentle bite from a tiger cub is not nothing. Marcus let out a yell and snatched his hand out of the cub's mouth.

  Aurelia grinned broadly. “I hope that'll teach you a lesson, you nasty little tease,” she said unfeelingly as he sucked his hand. Seeing him fighting tears, she relented and went to look, taking his hand in hers and examining the indentations that were rapidly turning into bruises. “Ffff! Poor old you. Does it hurt?”

  “He ought to be whipped,” said Marcus sullenly, more humiliated than hurt.

  She dropped his hand. “Oh, pooh. It's nothing much. He bites me all the time when we're playing. Look!” She showed some little regular bruises on her forearm where Boots had been playing a bit more roughly than usual.


  “I heard he'd had all his teeth taken out.”

  “Only his fangs.”

  “Hah! Lost his fangs, eh? How can a tiger be a tiger without fangs?”

  “Well, you're lucky, he might have bitten your hand right off and run away with it, if he'd had them!” retorted Aurelia, sitting down on the ground and calling the cub to her. He crawled to her on his belly and lay with his head in her lap while she petted and soothed him. His tail twitched gently. “Look,” she said, “he's saying I love being with you. I can understand nearly everything he tells me now!”

  Marcus watched her, full of envy. Though he would have died rather than admit it, he was a bit afraid of the tiger. He had to stop Aurelia's knowing that.

  “Let's play circus with him!” he said.

  “No.”

  “Why not? All you ever do is kiss and pet him!”

  “That's not true. I play with him.”

  “But not real games, only silly kitten games. We should pretend he's a wild beast in the arena, pitted against a gladiator—”

  “That would be you, no doubt,” said Aurelia sarcastically.

  “Yes, it would! I know how to fight like a gladiator, with a net and trident, or a sword—my father's not like yours, refusing to take you to the circus, mine takes me quite often! Here, you, lend me your sword!” he said suddenly to the young keeper, who had a short sword in his belt.

  Julius's hand flew to it instinctively.

  “I'm sorry, Master Marcus, but my sword never leaves me. Besides, it's sharp. You might hurt someone with it.”

  Marcus faced him boldly. His rank was so far above Julius's that he felt unassailably superior to him.

  “Do as you're told,” he shouted, “or I'll have you flogged!”

  Julius looked over the boy's shoulder at Aurelia. Aurelia was watching, but she didn't intervene.

  “I have no leave from the Emperor to give you my sword. It's not a plaything.”

  The boy flushed crimson with rage. He flung himself on Julius and began trying to wrest the sword from his belt. Julius was in a quandary. He held the furious boy away, but he was frightened of what the consequences might be of defying a direct order from the son of a senator, let alone manhandling him.