The Silver Eagle

friends.’

The haruspex murmured in agreement.

Clearly sceptical of their story, Hiero stroked his beard. There was an uneasy pause. ‘Why have you approached my men?’ asked the bestiarius at length. ‘Do you need some water? Or food?’

It was patently obvious that the ragged-looking friends needed more than this. Hiero is playing with us, thought Romulus bitterly. He wants to know if we can benefit him in any way. But we have no ruby now, like the one Tarquinius had to buy the silk from Isaac. Nothing to buy our passage.

‘My thanks for your kind offer,’ murmured Tarquinius, bowing his head.

Romulus was quick to emulate him.

There was a small smile of recognition, but nothing more.

‘We had actually hoped to join your party,’ ventured Tarquinius. ‘As you know, the journey to Alexandria is long and dangerous. Especially for two men travelling on their own.’

Hiero pursed his lips. ‘I have little need of more mouths to feed every day.’

Tarquinius hung his head, waiting. It was time for Romulus to act on his own.

Romulus’ heart sank. No doubt the bestiarius had plenty of labourers and guards on his well-planned and well-funded expedition. He stared upwards, and a flock of small, brightly coloured birds caught his eye. Darting this way and that, their feathers shimmered brilliantly in the sun.

Tarquinius watched him sidelong.

We are worth far more than the average man, Romulus thought angrily.

Hiero turned to go.

‘My friend here has some medical knowledge,’ Romulus volunteered. ‘He can clean and stitch wounds as well as an army surgeon. I can also, although not to the same level of proficiency.’

The bestiarius spun around, suddenly beaming from ear to ear. ‘Why didn’t you say? Men with your abilities would be most welcome. There are many injured animals that will die without treatment.’ He laughed. ‘And some slaves.’

While exotic beasts were worth huge sums of money, Romulus found it chilling that their lives were more important than those of men.

‘Come! Come!’ Beckoning eagerly, Hiero led the pair away from the nets and pits, leaving Gracchus staring suspiciously after them. Recounting the trials and tribulations of his trip, the old bestiarius walked half a mile to the rear. Here, over a large area, sprawled a large collection of wooden pens and cages. The enclosures were all made of rough-hewn timber planks, fashioned from the trees that stood nearby. Many held antelope, from delicate ones with a white belly and black stripe along the flank to larger ones with graceful spiral horns. All of them clustered together, milling fearfully about their enclosures and sending clouds of dust into the air. Others contained buffalo or zebra. They paced to and fro, pawing the dirt and bellowing to register their distress. A single pen nearby had much taller sides than the others, and contained a pair of giraffes.

‘Strange, aren’t they?’ said Hiero. ‘The first two I’ve ever managed to catch alive and unharmed. They usually break their legs in the nets or pits.’

‘How will you get them on a ship?’ asked Romulus curiously.

‘That is something I’m working on,’ cackled Hiero. ‘But the money they’ll fetch in Rome will keep me thinking of ways!’

An old memory surfaced, and Romulus knew why the name Hiero was familiar. Shortly before he was sold into gladiator school, he had overheard Gemellus, his former master, having a conversation with his bookkeeper. They were talking about a venture to capture wild animals deep in the south of Egypt. Raising the necessary capital had been the only problem. And the expedition was to be led by a Phoenician bestiarius named Hiero! Romulus stole a glance at the old man. It seemed utterly amazing that he might have dealt with Gemellus. Old rage flared in his heart, and he resolved to find out what he could.

Angry roaring from a nearby cage drew Romulus’ attention.

Hiero saw him glancing at the large crate, which was made of extra thick logs. ‘That’s where I need your help most,’ confided the old bestiarius. ‘It contains a big lion we caught a few days ago. He tore open one of his front legs on a wooden spike, and the wound has become infected. It’s getting worse by the day.’

Reaching the cage, Romulus peered between the bars. The smell of pungent urine from within was overpowering. Inside he saw a male lion with a magnificent mane; it was pacing up and down, but with a heavy limp. When the beast turned to walk back, Romulus saw the injury Hiero had mentioned. Deep, ugly and infected, it extended in a ragged line all the way from the left elbow to the shoulder. Thick clusters of flies had been attracted by the smell and they buzzed around the confined space, trying to land on the wound at every opportunity. The lion lashed his tail from side to side in frustration, unable to disperse the annoying insects for more than a moment at a time. Romulus moved closer for a better look. The wound looked awful, and would certainly prove to be fatal if left untreated. Noticing him, the huge male snarled angrily and, despite the bars separating them, Romulus jumped back. Its canine teeth were as long as his fingers.

‘Well? Can you cure the beast?’ demanded Hiero. ‘It’s worth a damn fortune — alive.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Tarquinius replied. ‘First we will have to restrain it.’

Romulus looked in at the lion once more and was mesmerised by its deep amber eyes. He wondered if it felt the same as he had in the cells below the arena before a fight. Trapped. Alone. Angry. How could it be right to capture the big cat for sport? As he had been forced to fight and kill other gladiators? Yet to satisfy the bloodthirsty Roman public, it and countless thousands of others were ensnared and then transported huge distances to be slaughtered in the amphitheatre. Hunting the lion in the wild was acceptable, but not this. Romulus was filled with revulsion, but there was nothing he could do. This was life.

‘And if my slaves manage to tie it down?’ Hiero’s voice was insistent.

‘We can assess how bad the wound actually is,’ answered the haruspex. ‘That’s before cleaning and stitching it.’

‘Will your treatment work?’ queried the bestiarius. His face turned crafty. ‘If it doesn’t, I can offer you little more than a meal and a couple of full water bags.’

‘I’m sure that my friend here will be up to the task,’ Tarquinius announced.

Romulus’ stomach turned over with shock. He had never operated on an injury this severe. What is he thinking? He threw an angry glance at Tarquinius.

‘Excellent,’ said Hiero, now looking expectant. ‘I’ll gather a dozen men.’

Chapter XXVII: Alexandria

Three months pass.

Lake Mareotis, near Alexandria, winter 48 BC

Hiero was ecstatic. The long, difficult journey from Ethiopia was drawing to an end. All that remained was a relatively short voyage to Italy, and then he would be able to sell every last damn animal in his caravan. Another year of hard work was almost over, and the bestiarius would be heartily relieved when it was and his purse was bulging. After being trapped, the beasts had been transported hundreds of miles, by ship and in cages on wagons drawn by mules. The process had not been without its problems. It was simply not possible to capture so many creatures and confine them without some losses.

One of the giraffes had broken a hind leg in the bars of its enclosure and had to be killed. A number of antelope died without any apparent cause. Hiero knew from long experience that stress was the probable reason. It was the loss of a valuable bull elephant which pained the bestiarius most though. Panicking when his men tried to herd it on to one of the open, flat-bottomed transports, it had jumped into the sea, attracting attention of the worst kind. Even close to shore, there were always plenty of sharks about — hammerheads and other large types. Hiero had grown used to their constant presence at certain times of the year. Everyone had watched in awe as one daring shark had swum in and attacked the elephant. Feeling the first bite,