Barbus also shouted and urged me to show presence of mind and remember I was a Roman and a Manilian. If I found myself in need, he would immediately come down and kill the lion with his sword, but first I should try to capture it alive. I do not know which part of this advice seemed the soundest, but once my friends had dropped the net, it was easier for me to get out of it. Despite everything, their cowardice had made me so angry that I turned with a firm grip on the net and looked the lion straight in the eye. It stared back at me with a majestic mien and a deeply offended and hurt expression, whining gently as it lilted a bleeding hind paw. I raised the net with both hands, hoisted it tip willi all my strength, for it was heavy for a single man, and threw it. The lion simultaneously took a leap forward, became entangled in the net and fell to one side. Roaring terribly, it began to roll about on the ground, winding the net around itself so that only once did it manage to strike me with its paw. I felt its strength, for I flew head-over-heels for quite a distance, a fact which undoubtedly saved my life.
Barbus and the animal trainer loudly urged each other on, the latter taking his wooden pitchfork and pinning the lion to the ground, and Barbus successfully threading a noose around its hind legs. Now the Syrian peasants tried to come to our rescue, but I shouted and swore and forbade them to since I wanted my cowardly friends to be in on the capture of the lion. Otherwise the whole of our plan would have been to no avail. Finally they did this, although they received several scratches from the lion’s claws in the process. The animal trainer secured our ropes and knots until the lion was so firmly bound that it could scarcely move. While this was going on, I sat on the ground, trembling with rage and so upset that I vomited between my knees.
The Syrian peasants threaded a long wooden pole between the lion’s paws and began to carry the creature toward the village. As it hung there on the pole, it seemed less large and majestic than when it had stepped out from its cave into the sunlight. In fact, it was a weak and flea-bitten old lion with several bald patches in its mane, and badly worn teeth. What worried me most was that it might be strangled by its bonds during the journey to the village.
My voice betrayed me several times, but I managed to make perfecdy clear to my friends what I thought of them and their behavior. If I had learned anything, it was that one could rely on no one when it came to one’s life. My friends were ashamed of their behavior and accepted my criticism, but they also reminded me of our joint oath and that we had captured the lion together. They willingly allowed me the greater part of the honor, but also demonstrated their wounds. I, in turn, showed my arm, which was still bleeding so profusely that my knees felt weak. Finally we agreed that we were all scarred for life by our venture. In the village we celebrated with a feast and respectfully made sacrifices to the lion after we had successfully barricaded it inside the sturdy cage. Barbus and the animal trainer got drunk while the girls in the village danced in our honor and garlanded us. The following day we hired an ox-wagon to take the cage and we ourselves rode behind in procession with wreaths on our foreheads, while carefully ensuring that our bandages bore clearly visible bloodstains on them.
At the city gates in Antioch the police were about to arrest us and take away our horses, but the officer in command was wiser and decided to come with us when we told him that we were voluntarily on our way to the City Hall to give ourselves up. Two policemen made a way for us with their batons, for as always in Antioch, all the loafers began to crowd around as soon as word spread that something unusual had happened. At first the crowd shouted abuse and threw lumps of manure and rotten fruit at us, for an exaggerated rumor had circulated that we had violated all the girls and gods in the city. Irritated by the noise and cries of the crowd, our lion began to roar dully, and it continued to roar, encouraged by the sound of its own voice, until our horses once again began to rear and shy away.
It is possible that the animal trainer had played a part in the roaring. Anyhow, the crowd fell back willingly before us and when they saw our bloodstained bandages, several of the women gave cries of sympathy and wept.
Anyone who has ever viewed the broad mile-long main street of Antioch, with its endless columns, will understand that our procession gradually began to look like a procession of triumph rather than of shame. It was not long before the easily influenced crowd began to throw flowers in our path. Our self-confidence grew, and when we reached the City Hall we already felt ourselves heroes rather than criminals.
The city fathers allowed us first to present our lion to the city and dedicate it to the protector Jupiter, who in Antioch is usually called Baal. After this we were brought before the criminal magistrates. But at that time there was a famous lawyer, with whom my father had spoken, working with them, and our voluntary appearance made a deep impression on the magistrates. They took our horses from us of course, which was inevitable, and we had to listen to gloomy words on the depravity of youth and about what one could expect in the future when the sons of the city’s best families set such an appalling example to the people, and about how different it had all been in the days when our parents and forefathers had been young.
But when I returned home with Barbus, a death wreath hung on our door, and at first no one would speak to us, not even Sophronia. Finally she burst into tears and told me that my tutor, Timaius, had the previous evening asked for a pan of warm water in his room and then had opened his veins. His lifeless body had not been found until morning. My father had shut himself in his room and had not even received his freedmen, who had sought admission to console him.
Actually no one had really liked the morose and discontented Timaius, but a death is always a death and I could not escape from my sense of guilt. I had struck my tutor and by my behavior had brought shame on him. Now I was seized with terror. I forgot that I had looked a real lion straight in the eye, and my first thought was to run away forever, go to sea, become a gladiator or enlist in one of the most distant Roman legions in the countries of ice and snow, or on the hot borders of Parthia. But I could not flee from the city without landing in prison, and so I thought defiantly of following Timaius’ example and in that way ridding my father of my troublesome presence.
My father received me quite differently from the way I had thought he would, although I ought to have imagined something like it, as he rarely behaved as other people do. Weary from his vigil and weeping, he fell on me, took me in his arms, pressed me to his breast, kissed my cheeks and my hair and rocked me gently to and fro. He had never before held me in his arms in this way and with such gentleness, for when I was small and longed for his caresses he had never wished to touch me nor even look at me.
“My son Minutus,” he whispered. “I thought I had lost you forever and that you’d fled to the end of the world with that drunken veteran, because you had taken money with you. And you must not mind about Timaius, for he wished for nothing but to avenge his destiny as a slave and harness his vague philosophy on you and me, and nothing can happen in this world that is so evil that there is no way of reconciliation and forgiveness.
“Oh, Minutus,” he went on, “I am not fit to raise anyone, for I have not even been able to manage my own life. But you have your mother’s forehead and your mother’s eyes and your mother’s short straight nose and your mother’s lovely mouth too. Can you ever forgive me for the hardness of my heart and my neglect of you?”