‘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, the trumpeting bull became even more terrified and swam out further. It was a fatal mistake. Attracted by the blood staining the sea, more sharks soon arrived. By the end there were more than twenty, but it still took an age to kill the enormous creature. The piteous noises it made tore even at Hiero’s jaded heart. Eventually the elephant had succumbed though, a small grey island that bobbed back and forth in the reddened water.

But there were still reasons to be content, thought the bestiarius. Thanks to Romulus’ ministrations, the lion with the terrible leg wound had completely recovered. Many other animals, as well as injured slaves, had benefited from his and Tarquinius’ treatment. In truth, the expedition had been a resounding success. He had dozens of the more common animals like antelope and buffalo. As well as the big male, there were several other lions, four leopards, a giraffe and three elephants. But the greatest prize of all was a great armoured beast with a horn on its nose, something that Hiero had only ever heard of before. The rhinoceros had short legs for its size but could run faster than a man. Its immensely thick skin resembled metal plates, making it almost invulnerable. Possessed of poor eyesight but a keen sense of smell, the bad-tempered creature had gored two of his slaves to death when being captured. Others had been severely injured since.

That did not concern the bestiarius in the slightest. Such minor losses were all factored into his costs. If the gods continued to smile on him as they had up till now, his arrival at Alexandria would make him an even wealthier man. One or two more trips like this and he would be able to retire. Hiero stared surreptitiously at Romulus. Appearing out of the wilderness so unexpectedly, the young man and his quiet, scarred companion had been useful additions to his party. He had spent weeks trying to persuade them to stay on in his employ. While the pair had professed interest, the wily bestiarius had gathered that reaching Italy was their main aim. Still, he couldn’t complain. The work they had done had more than paid for their food and transport costs.

‘Well?’ he asked, stepping on to the shore. ‘What do you think of that?’

Romulus could scarcely believe his eyes. Beyond the far edge of the lake, the great walls stretched for miles. This, the capital founded almost three centuries earlier by Alexander of Macedon, was absolutely vast.

It had been so long since Romulus had seen a large city. The last had been Barbaricum, and before that, Seleucia. Yet the metropolis which sprawled from east to west dwarfed both. Even Rome, the heart of the mighty Republic, could not compare.