The menagerie was a long, low, roofed area. A series of big cages, the size of slave cubicules, ran along one side; from these came odd rustling sounds and suddenly a deep grunt from another large animal of some kind, maybe a bear. Opposite the cages were smaller pens with lower bars, mainly empty. At one end four uncaged ostriches were ogling us while Buxus tried feebly to restrain their curiosity by offering them a bowl of grain. They were taller than him and determined to be nosy, like ghouls craning their necks when someone has been run over by a waggon.
Leonidas was lying in his cage, not far from where he had been when I saw him yesterday. This time his head was turned away from us.
“We need more light.”
Calliopus, sounding terse, called for torches. “We keep it dim to pacify the beasts.”
“Can we go in?” I put a hand on one bar of the cages. It felt stronger than I expected from its gnawed appearance; the contraption was wooden, though reinforced with metal. A short length of chain kept the door fastened, secured by a closed padlock. Apparently the keys were kept in the office; Calliopus yelled to a slave to run for them.
Buxus abandoned his nursemaiding task and joined us, still jostled by the long-legged birds.
“You can go in. He's safe. He's dead, definitely.” He nodded to a flyblown carcass inside the cage. “He's never touched his breakfast!”
“You fed hi this morning?”
“Just a tidbit to keep him going.” It looked like a whole goat. “I called him; he was lying just like that. I just thought he was asleep. Poor thing must already have gone and I never realized.”
“So you left him to finish his snooze, as you thought?”
“That's right. When I came back later to bring some corn for the daft birds here, I thought he seemed quiet. When I checked I knew he hadn't moved. There were flies all over him, and not even a twitch of his tail. I even poked him with a long stick. Then I said to myself: he's gone all right.”
The torches and keys arrived together. Calliopus roused himself and jingled the keys on a huge ring, with difficulty sorting out the right one. He shook his head. “Once you take them from their natural habitat these creatures are vulnerable. Now you can see what I'm up against, Falco. People like you”-he meant people who queried his financial probity-”don't realize how delicate this business is. The animals can pop off overnight, and we never know why.”
“I can see you kept him in the best possible conditions.” I entered rather carefully. Like all cages it had become sordid, but the straw bedding was thick. There was a large trough of water, and the goat carcass, though Buxus was already towing that off for some other beast's snack, shoving aside the ostriches who had followed him, then closing the cage door to keep them out.
The unkind thought struck me that Leonidas was now heading for the same fate as the goat who had been intended for his breakfast. As soon as interest in him waned, he too would be served up to some cannibalistic crony.
Close up he was bigger than I had realized. His coat was brown, his untidy mane black His powerful back legs were tucked neatly either side of him, his front paws stretched out like a sphinx, his fat tail curled like a domestic cat's with its black tassel neatly aligned with his body. His great head was nose down against the back of the cage. The smell of dead lion had not yet supplanted the smells he accrued in his living quarters when alive. Those were pretty strong
Buxus offered to open the lion's huge mouth and exhibit his teeth for me. Since this was closer than I ever wanted to be to a live lion, I agreed politely. I always welcome new experiences. Calliopus stood watching, frowning over his loss as he reckoned up what replacing Leonidas would cost him. The keeper bent over the prone animal. I heard him mutter some only half-ironic endearment. Gripping the rough mane with both hands, Buxus heaved hard to turn the lion over towards us.
Then he let out a cry of real disgust. Calliopus and I took a moment to respond, then we stepped closer to look. We smelt the powerful reek of lion. We saw blood, on the straw and in the matted fur. Then we noticed something else: from the great beast's chest protruded the splintered handle of a broken spear.
“Somebody's done for him!” raged Buxus. “Some bastard's gone and murdered Leonidas!”