I sensed failure already. Expecting the worst makes it happen. If only success was as simple.
I felt exhausted by the humidity. This was not for me. I had never been a hunting man. Still, I knew nobody who had any experience would try to tackle a big, fit leopard with only a small hand-knife.
The spotted cat licked her whiskers. She seemed perfectly relaxed.
Noises surprised me: low voices and hurried footsteps approaching in the outer corridor. The leopardess twitched her ears and growled ominously. My throat became too dry to call for help-a bad idea anyway. Very slowly I adopted a crouch, hoping the cat would have learned to recognize a human threat posture. A boot sole skidded on the oily floor. The sickly scent of the spilled oenanthinum caught in my windpipe. The leopardess also moved and also slipped, one great paw dangling off the seat. Replacing it fastidiously, she looked annoyed. A low, harsh rumble came from her throat again. We were now watching each other, though I tried to feign disinterest, not offering a challenge. She still had room to escape. She could hop down, turn, and stalk away. At least she could until the voices we had heard came yet nearer; then both she and I knew she was about to be trapped.
It was a spaciously designed chamber. High walls. Vaulted roof. Room for a whole guild of augurs to come here from the Temple of Minerva in the Saepta and lounge in the steam without knocking elbows. To a man hemmed in by a carnivorous wildcat, it suddenly seemed pretty confined.
The voices reached the door. "Stay out!" I called. People came in anyway.
The leopardess decided that the men now behind her represented danger. I must have just looked pitiful. She stood up and paced along the seat towards me, alert to the disturbance yet twitchingly aware of me. I backed against the stone bowl; then I started ducking round it sideways. The mighty basin was shoulder high and might offer some protection. I never made it far enough. Whether the cat decided to spring up onto the bowl or whether I was her target, she came flying towards me. I shouted and got my knife up, though I stood no chance.
Then one of her pounding paws must have caught in a drainage cover-one of the small square grids with flower-shaped patterns that allowed condensed steam to soak away. Splay-legged, she scrabbled for balance. Either the grid or a shard of glass from the broken alabastron must have hurt her; she bit angrily at a claw, where blood streamed. I kept yelling, trying to drive her off.
Someone broke through the knot of men in the doorway. A dark shape whirled through the air, briefly opened like a sail, then closed around the leopardess. She ended up writhing in a bundle, snarling and spitting, partially held in the folds of a net. It was not enough. One great spotted leg worked free, desperately striking out. The scrabbling bundle of fur and claws still came at me.
My arm flew up to protect my neck. Then I was knocked askew. The powerful weight, all wet pelt, teeth, and snarls, belted me sideways. Smelling carnivore, I gasped. I hit the wall. I must have crash-landed right by one of the internal flues; at first I didn't feel it, then I knew my bare arm had been burned from the wrist to the hem of my sleeve.
People raced to the leopard, brisk figures who skated on the wet tiling but who knew what they were doing. Another net arched, spread, and fell. Men held the beast down with long iron-shod poles. Sharp commands rang out-then soothing noises for the animal. A cage was slid in and swiftly dragged across to the writhing cat. She was still angry and terrified, but she knew these were the people in control. So, with relief, did I.
"Come out of the way, Falco!" A harsh order came from the tall, shapely female who had flung the first net and saved me. Not a voice to argue with. Not a woman to cross. I had had some dealings with her, though the last time I saw her seemed an age ago and we had been in Syria. Her name was Thalia. "Make some room for the experts-"
She grabbed my burned arm. Pain kicked in; I shrieked involuntarily. She let go, but took a firmer grip on my shoulders, bunching handfuls of tunic. I let myself be hauled outside the sweating room like a drunk being expelled by a particularly adept bouncer, then I leaned on the wall of the corridor, sweat pouring off in rivulets, holding my right arm away from my body. Breathing seemed something I might never do in comfort again.
My rescuer turned back to see the leopardess successfully caged. "She's in-you could have waited, darling. Trust a bloody man to want to do everything himself!" The inference was lewd. It seemed best to accept the criticism, both topical and sexual. She had always made suggestive remarks, and I had always pretended not to have heard them. I told myself I was safe because the lady was extremely fond of Helena. If she did decide to grope me, I was not in a state to protect myself.
I had known Thalia some years now. We were supposed to be friends. I treated her with nervous respect. She worked in the Circus, usually with snakes. A woman who could be described as "statuesque"- not meaning a sculpture of some delicate nymph with a sweet smile and virginal properties-and she had a large character to match. I thought I liked her. It seemed the best attitude to take.
As usual Thalia was bursting out of a minimal stage costume that was deliberately designed to cause offense to prudes. To augment the outfit she wore platform boots that had her tottering and arm bracelets like warship anchor chains. Her hair was piled in a towering concoction that she must have kept in place for weeks without dismantling. I swear I glimpsed a stuffed finch among its mass of combs and knob-headed pins.
She dragged me to the cold room, made me kneel beside the dipping pool, and plunged my arm underwater, up to the shoulder, to draw out some of the heat from the burn. "Lie still."
"I bet you say that to all the men you get hold of-" It was a terrifying thought. Thalia knew it too.
"Take my advice or you'll be in a fever tomorrow, and scarred for life. I'll give you a salve, Falco."
"I'd rather have a chat."
"You'll get what's good for you."
"Whatever you say, princess."
Eventually she let me up. As she was leading me meekly out through the baths we met a man carrying a whip and a long-legged stool. "Ooh look!" she shouted sarcastically. "Here's a little boy who wants to grow up to be a lion tamer!" He looked suitably embarrassed.
Thalia had accosted a tall, wide, dark-skinned, crinkle-haired man, built like a fighter, puffed nose and all, though unexpectedly well dressed. He wore a tunic with rich blue and gold braid, carried a full cloak of fine wool with Celtic silver toggles, and flaunted an expensive belt with a buckle that looked as if it had once cinched in Achilles when he was in a party mood. A group of men, obviously his slaves, followed him along the corridor, some bringing ropes and long hooked staves.
"I caught her for you," Thalia called back over one shoulder as our paths crossed. Apparently he owned the leopardess. "Come and see me when you've got her home, and we'll talk about the salvage fee."
The man grinned back weakly, trying to persuade himself she wasn't serious. I thought she was. So did he really.
Thalia kept walking. I limped along after her. "Who was that?"
"Idiot called Saturninus."
"Saturninus! You know him, Thalia?"
"Same business, sort of."
"Well that's a bit of luck." She looked surprised. Then I promised that I would accept having my arm lathered with ointment, if she would tell me what she knew about the men who imported beasts for the venatio.
"Saturninus, in particular?"
"Both Saturninus and Calliopus, please."