“Oh, him! I know him, all right. He'll do anything for me. He had his eye on me, years ago, when I was young and pretty. Plenty of men did, young themselves then, and handsome, though they may not be so young now. And don't you dare smile!”
“I'm not smiling! I believe you, because you're still beautiful,” said Aurelia earnestly. “So, what I'm asking is, could you find the boy's mother and take her to the prison to visit him? See, I've written a note for her to offer my sympathy and say I might be able to help her … later.” She pressed a small roll of papyrus into the nurse's hand, knowing she couldn't read. Probably Julius's mother couldn't, either, but with luck she would show it to Julius, for whom the message had been written. Julius could read a little, because during the long summer days when Boots lay asleep and there was nothing to do, Aurelia, for her own amusement, had taught him. The note was not signed, and the handwriting was heavily disguised. It said simply, Don't despair. You have a friend.
The nurse took another drink of wine and examined the scroll, turning it about while Aurelia sat in suspense. Then she said cannily, “And I suppose I am not to mention this errand? Or let this little piece of writing, which doesn't look long enough to say what you told me it says, fall into the wrong hands?”
Aurelia hesitated, then nodded.
“And why is it a secret, may one ask? If it's just an innocent act of kindness on the part of Caesar's little daughter?”
Aurelia hadn't expected to be asked questions. She blushed and stuttered. “Well, because—because I don't think Mata and—and Father would approve of my interesting myself in—in a slave's … family.”
“In his family? Or in him, my young madam? Which is it?”
Aurelia couldn't meet her nurse's suddenly sharp and penetrating eyes. She flung herself against the familiar soft bosom. “Oh, Nurse! Oh, Nurse!” was all she could mumble. But the old woman felt her trembling with suppressed sobs.
“Ah, there, there,” she said gently, petting her. “I know. We can't always love only where we should. He's a handsome stripling. And I've seen how he looks at you.” She heaved a monstrous sigh. “Dangerous work you set me to. Could you not forget him? For he's as good as dead, my dove. You know that and I know it. No, no. Don't cry. I'll do your errand. But leaving out the mother, I think. It will be quicker if I just visit him.” She sat Aurelia upright and wiped her cheeks with the corner of her scarf. Then she picked up the scroll. “This is for him, I take it?” Aurelia nodded. The nurse tucked it into her dress, and sighed again. “The gods created wild beasts to be made into rugs and wall hangings, not pets. I said so, but who listens to an old woman?”
Aurelia threw her arms around the nurse's neck and hugged her until she pushed her off.
“I could get my death for this,” she scolded. “You don't have to squeeze the life out of me first.”
One day, Boots was seen in one of the side streets south of the city.
In hours, the whole of Rome fell into ferment. Citizens were afraid to leave their homes, or even to venture into their courtyards. There was a kind of hysteria in the air. Boots was confused in people's minds with Brute, the most ferocious man-eater ever seen in the circus.
The hunt was resumed, various traps were set, but to no avail. As the days passed, the fear grew, and even streets in the heart of Rome became almost deserted at night. From merely stealing drinks from private fountains after dark, Boots became bolder. He began to stalk the empty streets, looking for small prey such as cats and dogs that strayed out of doors. He had lost weight but he was still a pampered house tiger, glad to get a meal without too much effort.
People missed their pets, of course, and reports swiftly spread that the tiger was abroad in the heart of the city. Some even caught glimpses of his sinuous form, silhouetted against the light-colored stone of which Rome was built, a sinister shadow sliding past walls and closed gates. Rumors of sightings spread like wildfire—rumor placed him in many different parts of the city, all at the same time, and so it began to be said that he had magic powers. People became all the more afraid of him.
And Caesar grew all the angrier. Soon the whole household was scurrying about like mice, trying to avoid him. Even Aurelia felt afraid of him.
Marcus came to see Aurelia at last. The agony of shame he felt had become too much to bear alone.
“What's happening to Julius?” was his first question as soon as they were able to creep away to their favorite courtyard and be alone.
“He's still in prison. Look.”
She furtively passed him the small papyrus roll that the nurse had brought back from her clandestine visit to Julius's cell.
Marcus snatched it and read it. “How did you get this?” he asked breathlessly.
She told him. He looked down again. The writing under her writing—scrawling and ill-spelled like a child's—said: The date is set. The ides of July. No friend however dear and true can help me. Look after my mother. The ides of July! That meant the middle day of the month. “But that's in fourteen days!” Marcus cried.
“Shhh. Yes. We have to find a way to help him, Marcus.”
“You mean because we'll never stop feeling guilty.”
Something seemed to break in her.
“That doesn't matter! What matters is, Julius will be dead, and by some horrible way! I can't bear it, Marcus, I can't bear it!”
He stared at her. He saw she was distraught, and suddenly understood something of what she had been going through while he sat at home with his little portion of shame.
“I don't see how we can do anything,” he muttered uneasily. “They think we're only children. No one will listen to us.”
“I'm not a child anymore,” she said. And he looked at her and was awed to see that it was true. “Marcus, maybe if you talked to your father, he could influence mine. You must confess. They'd believe both of us.”
“Are you mad? My father already suspects I had something to do with it! If he found out what we did, I'd be dreadfully punished! He'd beat me, for sure!”
“Would a beating be as bad as Julius dying? I'd gladly be beaten if it would save him!” She was pacing the floor, wringing her hands, her tears almost spouting from her eyes. Marcus thought of his sweat falling on the face of the goddess.
“Have there been any omens?” he asked. “Have you consulted the entrails?”
She stopped pacing. She stood still for a full minute. Then she looked him in the face.
“I'm going to tell you something. Something you mustn't tell anyone.”
“I could keep any secret now!” he said grimly.
“I think I might be becoming a Christian.”
His jaw dropped, not merely from astonishment but from horror.
She went on, “The Christians don't think the circus is right. They're against it.”
“Well, they would be! They're put to death there!”
“I know. It's terrible. They're helpless. Women and little children, being smeared with blood to make sure the beasts attack them!”
“Their men are cowards, though! When they're given weapons, they refuse to fight.”
“They're martyrs.”
“What's a martyr?”
“Someone who allows themselves to be killed because of their beliefs.”
He looked at her, baffled and aghast. Such a concept was completely beyond him.
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Wouldn't you let yourself be killed for the sake of Rome?”
“Not if I could get out of it!” he answered promptly.
“Well, the Christians don't try to get out of it. They submit themselves, to prove that they're strong in their beliefs. They believe they're going to somewhere called Heaven after they die. It's a bit like Olympus. They believe they're going to live with their god.”
Marcus shook his head as if to clear it of a fog of incomprehension. “That's complete rubbish. Anyway, how do you know all this?”
“From my tutors. I've been asking them quest
ions. Of course, they tell it to me to teach me how powerful Rome is, and how stupid and weak and mistaken the Christians are. And because,” she added with sudden fierceness, “those old men enjoy talking about all those awful things. They're disgusting. They gloat over the suffering of those poor people. If my tutors only knew what I'm really learning!”
“What do you mean?” asked Marcus, more and more alarmed.
“That it's possible to be against the circus, not because you're afraid to die there, but because it's wicked and wrong.”
Marcus walked unsteadily away from her. He pretended it was just so that he could go to a couch and sit down, but the impulse was to get as far from her and the contamination of her mad ideas as he decently could. What she was saying filled him with fear. The Christians were outcasts— enemies to the state. If Aurelia was serious in what she said, he had a clear duty to—
To what? Betray her? Impossible. Oh, why was she doing this to him, putting him into this horrible position?
“You shouldn't have told me,” he muttered.
“I had to tell someone. I tried to tell my nurse, but she wouldn't listen.”
“She was right. Do you want to be a traitor to Rome? To your own father? ”
“My father,” she said, “is going to put Julius to death for what we did.”
“He doesn't know it was us.”
“Yes, he does. I've confessed already.”
“You haven't!” he breathed in horror.
“Yes, but don't worry about yourself—he didn't care. He's determined to kill Julius.” Her voice dropped. “I started to stop loving him that day at the circus. He's cruel, and the things he does, and allows, are terrible and wrong. I can't love him now, even if he is my father.”
Amelia's Sacrifice
AS EACH DAY PASSED and the ides of July neared, Aurelia became more and more desperate.
She had no idea how to pray to the Christian god, so she was forced back upon her old ones. As far back as her memory went, she had been accustomed, each day as a matter of routine, to placing offerings of food and drink at the larium. Of course, the food stayed where she put it until it was cleared away by the servants, but Aurelia understood that the gods didn't need real food, only its spiritual essence. It was the offering that mattered, not the substance.
But now matters were so desperate that the ordinary gifts didn't seem enough. What was food to her, after all? She had all the food she needed. A real sacrifice was required.
She took out her jewelry and chose her favorite piece—a bracelet that her mother had given her years ago. She had always loved it. It was a gorgeous thing, delicately fashioned of gold and hung with bells that tinkled as she moved her arm. The clapper of each bell was a tiny ruby.
She stood before the larium and contemplated. If she laid the bracelet there, her mother would see it, or the servants would report it. In any case—did the Roman gods, the gods of her family, want such baubles? Did lifeless gold have a spiritual essence?
Perhaps the Christian god would appreciate it? The Christians had only one god, but he was said to be all-powerful, commanding all lesser gods. Yes. A king of gods required golden tokens, surely, as all rulers did. But how to give it to him? How to give it finally and unrecoverably?
She thought deeply—as deeply as prayer. And inspiration came. She would throw it into the Tiber.
The Tiber was Rome's river, on which the city depended for water—for life itself—and as such, of course, was sacred. That would be perfect. Her sacrifice would be both to the old gods and her secret new one—surely some powerful being would be won over by her deed! She wrapped the bracelet in a silken cloth and crept from the palace.
The river ran not too far away. Her feet in their house sandals tapped on the rounded cobbles. Once, she slipped, and the precious offering flew from her hand, but she recovered it, and nobody saw her because there were no citizens abroad. It was twilight. It was the first time in her life that Aurelia had ever left the palace unaccompanied. As the shadows lengthened, she became aware of her recklessness. She had never seen the streets so empty. She didn't know it was the Time of the Tiger. She had almost forgotten Boots in her passionate anxiety about his keeper.
Soon she stood on a great stone bridge that spanned the river, which was in spate. The snowmelt that came down from the mountains of the north had filled its tributaries and now it was at its highest and swiftest. She gazed down into the sacred waters.
“Oh, gods, all of you, great ones—hear and help me!” she said under her breath. “Save Julius. Let him be spared. I ask nothing more and will never ask anything more. Take my offering.” She held the silk by one corner, and watched the flash of gold as the beloved bracelet turned over and over and entered the tumbling waters without even a splash.
Prayer is easy, she thought. Deeds are harder. A tear fell—a minute addition to the rushing river. Then she looked upward.
“God of the brave Christians,” she whispered. “It was for you. I don't dare to anger our Roman gods, but it was really for you. I can't sacrifice my life—I dare not even turn to you openly. I'm too big a coward. I don't see why you should accept my prayer,” she added humbly. “Julius isn't a Christian, and you don't save the poor people who accept a horrible death for your sake. But—”
She stopped suddenly. She'd seen a movement on the far bank. There! Among the reeds. There—again! A striped coat—a long tail—a great head, stooping to drink. Could it be? The answer to her prayer, so quickly?
“Boots!” It was a scream, to carry above the noise of the river. “Boots!”
She rushed headlong off the bridge and onto the riverside path, then down the sloping stones to the edge of the water where the reeds grew—where her tiger was standing, knee-deep in the river, lifting his dripping face to look at her.
“Boots! It's me! Come, come, my sweet old darling, come.” She made swishing sounds to call him, and put her hand out.
For a moment it seemed he would not come. Then he caught her scent. With one bound he was at her side, rubbing his wet face against her thigh, feeling the familiar caresses on his ears, on his shoulders, along his back.
“Oh, Boots, you've lost your collar! And your boots are gone! Oh, you bad boy, where have you been?” She kneeled beside him and hugged him around his neck. She felt the rough grating of his tongue on her cheek. He could have taken her head off with one good bite. Instead, he purred, pushed his head under her chin, and knocked her over.
She scrambled to her feet. Her face was shining with incredulous happiness.
“Come, Boots! Come along! We're going home. We're going to save Julius!”
• • •
She led him back through the empty streets. If anyone was watching through their casements they would have seen their princess striding by, her long hair and diaphanous garments lifted by the breeze, the great striped beast at her side, her hand on its neck—they looked like figures on a painted vase or in a sacred mosaic: she a goddess, the tiger her devotee.
She entered the palace through the front entrance. The guards stood aside, astonished and awed. She rushed straight to her parents’ apartments.
“Father! Mata! Come and see!”
Her mother and father emerged from their rooms. They stopped dead at the sight of the girl and the tiger standing together in the glittering, lamplit antechamber.
Caesar recovered first.
“So—you've found him. Thank the gods for that. Now the city can remember itself and get back to normal. Where was he?”
“Down by the river!” She was too happy and excited to be guarded. Only when she saw her parents exchange shocked glances did she remember that she was strictly forbidden to go out alone. “Pata, Mata, I had to! I had something very, very important to do! I had to make a sacrifice to—to the gods, a real sacrifice, and say my prayers to the Tiber! And look! The gods heard me and answered!” The tiger had sat himself down beside her and was licking one of his forepaws calmly, making a spitting noise
as he cleaned between his toes. Aurelia's arm was about his neck and she was smiling, as it seemed, with her whole body.
For a moment Caesar, faced with this happy pair, weakened in his resolve. His wife was looking at him beseechingly. Relent! Relent! Look how happy she is! Don't spoil it! But his word had gone from him.
“You can't keep him, my girl,” he said stiffly, hardening his heart. “You must see for yourself, it's too dangerous.” He watched her face fall, her arm drop. He saw her begin to tremble. But he went on: “I take my share of the blame, for having thought a wild beast a suitable present. You've had many months of pleasure with him, but now he must make up to Rome for having filled its citizens with fear by his escape.”
“Make up to Rome? How?”
“By going into the arena, of course.”
For a moment there was silence. Then Aurelia screamed. “What! What? You'll put him in your hateful circus to be killed?”
Caesar felt anger rise in him hotly. Was she defying him? His own daughter? Neither of his sons would have dared!
“I will,” he said fiercely. “And his keeper with him.”
The girl stood perfectly still, all color draining from her face. “But you can't,” she whispered. “Not now I've brought Boots back. Not after I told you that it was me who let him escape. You can't hurt Julius now. It would be too cruel. Too unjust.”
There was a frozen silence. Caesar could not believe his own ears. Nor could he credit what his brain was telling him. If the tiger had not been there, beside her, he would have rushed upon his child and struck her.
“Why should you care what happens to a slave?”
Aurelia opened her lips.
Her mother, galvanized by the potential horror of the situation, tried to intervene, but Caesar halted her with one imperious gesture.
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