scented prick was one of Barbinus’ guests; touch him and the consequences would be dire. He moved even further away when Fat Barbinus emerged, waddling his way towards the wagon containing the cats.
‘Fine beasts, are they not, Master Marcellus,’ Barbinus boomed, in a voice loud enough for Aquila to hear.
‘Beautiful, sir,’ the boy replied, his voice dropping as the fat senator came closer. ‘They move with such elegance.’
Had his swarthy complexion not been tanned by a summer of sun, Barbinus would have seen Marcellus blush then. The contrast between the way Barbinus moved, legs thrown wide so each could get past the other corpulent thigh, was such a contrast to the easy way the cats slunk back and forth in their cage.
‘Wait till you see them out, boy,’ Barbinus said, nodding to the sutler to oblige.
From the moment he picked up the stout leather leads the cats grew excited, jumping about so much that everyone allowed themselves a safe backward step. The mobile cage had a double set of doors, the outer one of which the sutler shut before opening the inner. Both cats, as soon as he was close enough, began to rub themselves against him, purring loudly as he stroked them behind the ears, and allowing their collar to be attached with ease. It needed muscle to hold them as they emerged, but on the ground they ceased to strain, and stood together either side of the man who had reared them, proud, colourful and magnificent.
‘Beauties,’ Barbinus said.
‘You should stroke them, sir. The sooner they get to know you the better.’
‘They’re not for me, fellow, they are a gift for my guests.’
It took Marcellus a second to register that he was a guest, a look of disbelief to realise that Barbinus was smiling at him and a jaw that dropped unbidden at the realisation of the truth.
‘Me?’
‘Strictly speaking, your father, but something tells me you may warm to the gift just as much as he.’ Marcellus looked around then for a sight of Lucius, till Barbinus enlightened him. ‘He has agreed to use my bath house after all, though being the man he is he has taken his scribe in there with him. I daresay the poor man is sweltering as he tries to write his despatches.’
‘The farms?’
‘Are mine,’ Barbinus replied.
This time the smile was fixed and humourless. Lucius had fleeced him, selling the Sicilian property for an inflated price, making him regret sending for the gift with which he intended to seal the bargain. He consoled himself with the thought that they had been so badly run by the Falerii overseers that, even if he could not turn them into profitable plots, he could certainly make them pay more.
‘You wish to take hold of them, young sir?’
Marcellus responded tentatively to that, the hesitation as he stepped forward obvious, especially as both cats strained to sniff at his bare knees and sandalled feet, their purring loud and vibrant. It took a hefty tug from the sutler to pull them close and make them sit, an act that had more to do with his tight short grip on the leads than obedience to the verbal command. Marcellus stepped up beside him, taking first one lead and then the other. The sutler kept the whip, which had been coiled in his right hand.
‘Now young sir, walk slowly and they will do likewise.’ The sutler was right. Sleek heads sniffing the air, the two cats matched his pace as he walked round the paddock. ‘I’d be obliged if you was to keep them clear of my oxen. Tame they might be, but that is no thicker than the skin on their back.’
Barbinus barked to his own servants to get the oxen away from the trough and into a stockade, as Marcellus, feeling like a Persian tyrant, paraded round the paddock. The sutler stayed close enough to talk to him, instructing him when it was safe to let go of a bit of slack on the leash, and when to pull them in as they fought against the constraint.
‘Not much different to a dog, young sir. Check ’em when they’re young and they’ll behave ever after.’
Marcellus stopped a few feet from Barbinus, hauling hard to bring their collar right up to his knuckles, pleased with the way the cats sat down, one finger stretching out to stoke a short ear, which produced an immediate reprise of the loud purring.
‘You have a way with them, young sir.’
‘What happens if they are unleashed.’
‘Indoors it don’t signify and they are peerless in the guarding line. The gods help any felon who breaks into a house where they are inside.’
‘They would attack him?’
‘That they would, and like as not kill the fellow, but it would be a bad idea to let them roam, for they would be just as like to attack a stranger in the street, which would never do.’
‘They look too tame to harm anyone,’ said Barbinus.
‘That’s the training your honour, at which I humbly beg to say, I am an expert, but the wild creature lurks, and given a sniff of a chance they will revert.’
‘Show me!’ Barbinus snapped. Marcellus looked at the deep sunk eyes then, trying and failing to read what was going on behind them.
The sutler looked set to argue, but faced with the bulk of Barbinus he turned to a crouch and wheedling tone. ‘Bad for ’em, your honour. If they are let loose now that fence twixt the cats and my oxen won’t stop them.’
Barbinus looked out into the field where Aquila, back standing under his tree, leaning on a long staff, was watching, then to the sheep still huddled at the top of the hill against the fence that cut off the forest. There was a gate halfway along, which he ordered opened, a command that brought a look of alarm to the sutler’s face.
‘Marcellus Falerius. I bid you take them into that field. Let them sniff the presence of the sheep.’
Aquila was mystified by what was happening as the gate swung open and the cats were led through. Barbinus stayed on the other side as it was closed again, only the sutler and that rich boy with the cats this side of the fence. When the latter untied the leads his bewilderment increased. Neither leopard ran off, they stayed close to their human minder, sat at his feet, nuzzling his hands. It was as if freedom was such a strange thing that they had no idea how to exploit it, but that did not last. First one then the other sniffed the grass, no doubt picking up scents that appealed to their instincts. Slowly, as they circled the grass, the distance between them and the two humans grew wider. He could not know, because he was too far away to see or hear, that the sutler, who had loosed his coiled whip, was warning Marcellus to stay absolutely still, worried that, though the cats knew him well, they did not know this boy at all.
The leopards ceased to sniff the grass and lifted their heads to search for scents on the air. Then they began to lope around, heads jerking left and right, as the sheep at the top of the field began to bleat, a sound that attracted their attention. The flock began to break up just as Aquila moved, staff held out, his hat flying off as he sought to get between the cats and what was sure to become their prey. Concentrating on protection, he had no time to appreciate, as Marcellus did, the perfection of movement that followed. First the single stiff steps as each cat edged forward, which quickened into a loping trot as they increased the gap between them. Working together they cast left and right to isolate the now scattering sheep, selecting a target that because of their positions would have no chance of escape.
At that pace Aquila thought he had a chance to intervene but when the two cats had made their decision they leapt forward at a rate that turned them almost into a blur. He was oblivious to the shouts from below, from Barbinus a bellow of annoyance, from the sutler a shout to stop lest he become the prey. In the event Aquila was nowhere near the kill and had the sense to stop as it happened. One cat hit the running sheep just behind the neck while the other sank long teeth into the back of its leg, dragging it down. The animal was dead within seconds, with both leopards shaking powerful necks to rip into the flesh. As the sutler had moved, the rich boy, with the two leads still in his hand, moved with him, ignoring his instructions to stay put and walking up the hill.
Marcellus heard the man cursing Barbinus for undoing the work of nearly a year, words that the purchaser of these leopards could not hear. Realising that the young nobleman was still with him, he put up his hand.
‘Best not go too close, young sir, they’ve tasted running meat.’ Forward progress was then an inching forward, to the point where the nearest leopard lifted his head and snarled. ‘That’s as close as we dare get.’
‘What happens now?’ asked Marcellus.
‘We have to let them feed, then let’s see what happens. They might come back onto the leads. If not, then I’ll have to net them, and if they rear up at me then they’ll either have to be speared or let loose.’
‘Cassius Barbinus won’t like that.’
