Tiger, Tiger. Lynne Banks Reid

his brother hadn’t forgotten him.

      The bigger, stronger cub was not frolicking with a tender, laughing female two-legs, being fed titbits of meat in a pleasant sunlit open place. He was in a dark, bad-smelling, closed-in place, under the ground.

      He knew he was under the ground because he had been carried, in his cage, down a long flight of steps into dimness and coldness. He growled and snarled all the way and tried to reach through the bars to claw the bodies of those who carried him, but he couldn’t. At last he was released from the cage. The front of it was raised by some invisible agency and he came out with one bound – only to find his way blocked by cold black stone. There was a clang behind him as bars came down.

      His thoughts were all confusion, rage, frustration. His stomach churned and threw up bitterness into his mouth. He clawed the hard, stopping walls. It was useless.

      At last he stopped. He put his front paws on to the wall and stretched his neck, but he couldn’t see anything beyond.

      He had never felt so alone in his life. He had never been alone, till now. He whined miserably.

      A coarse, loud voice shouted, ‘Quiet, you little brute, or I’ll give you something to howl for!’ The threat in it was unmistakable. The bigger cub urinated with fear, then found a corner, pressed himself tight to the cold wall, and lay down.

      He didn’t sleep. He was too nervous. He shivered and all his striped fur stood on end. There had been something in that voice that filled him with dread.

      *

      For several days no two-legs came near him. He could hear them, at a distance, shouting. His food was pushed between the bars at the front of his prison on the end of long poles, while the cub clawed and gnawed it. As the days passed he lost condition and became listless with misery.

      Two days went by without any food. And then the teasing started.

      The cub sensed something bad was going to happen when a two-legs came into the dark place and made sounds that were the same as the shouting from afar. Unlike his brother, this cub had never had kindness from a two-legs, and all he knew of them was that they were the all-powerful source of food, and fear.

      This two-legs, very big and very threatening, stood over him as he lay in the corner he had chosen as a sleeping place. The cub didn’t know the nature of the threat but he knew he was afraid and helpless. He held himself alert as he lay with his head on his forepaws.

      ‘Get up, you,’ growled the two-legs. And it was a growl, deep in his throat, the sort of growl tigers make. It was almost the language the cub understood. The words meant nothing but the threat was clear. He didn’t move.

      The man prodded him sharply with something he carried.

      The cub lifted his head and snapped at the thing that had hurt him. But it wasn’t there any more.

      ‘Get up,’ the two-legs growled again.

      When the cub still didn’t move, the two-legs jabbed him again. This time the sharp thing nearly pierced his hide. He jumped up with a snarl of pain and swiped at the thing with his claws. It went away, came back, jabbed again, was snatched away before the cub could seize it.

      The cub was infuriated. He crouched, ready to spring at his tormentor. But he couldn’t, because a volley of small jabs kept him at bay.

      ‘Come on, you little pig’s whelp, you miserable mangy little runt! Spring at me! Just try it! You’ll never make the arena, you weakling! Come on, coward, what are you waiting for?’ The threatening voice went on and on, daring him, ordering him, provoking him, rousing him for battle – but always keeping him off, prodding him back. At last the cub, infuriated beyond bearing, did leap, full at the sharpened stick, not even seeing it in his blind rage. It didn’t pierce him. It vanished, as the man leapt aside and the cub dropped to the ground.

      ‘Good,’ said the two-legs. ‘Good. Now you’re learning.’

      He gave him a piece of meat and went away.

      So. That was it. He was supposed to spring. If he sprang, the sharp thing would not hurt him. It would only hurt and torment him if he did not spring. If he sprang, he would get meat.

      Thus the little tiger began to absorb the lessons that prepared him for his destiny.

      *

      Aurelia’s mother and father came to visit her several days after Boots’s first appearance.

      It was unusual for the Emperor and Empress to visit their daughter together. The Emperor was an intensely busy man and had all too little time for his youngest child (Aurelia had two older brothers, already away in the army). But that didn’t mean he was not devoted to her. Aurelia was the decoration on his life, his sweet reward after the essential sons, both troublesome and hard to love. He was conscious of his duty towards her now she was nearing womanhood, but left the details to his wife.

      Except that now he had sent his child a daring and extraordinary present, which his wife fiercely opposed.

      ‘Are you mad, Septimus?’ she had railed. ‘A wild animal! Supposing it hurts her!’

      ‘I have given orders. It won’t hurt her.’

      ‘But why? Why take the slightest risk?’

      She’d stood before him, her fists clenched, her face pale. This youngest child was the dearest of all to her, after two sons whom she had never been allowed to be close to. The Emperor drew her down beside him and unlocked her fingers.

      ‘Our daughter is as much the child of Caesar as her brothers. She too must be brave and proud. Would you have her play tamely with caged birds and goldfish for ever? She must show her mettle. She’ll teach the tiger to be gentle, and he will teach her to be strong.’

      She stared at him. She knew what was in his mind. He was already imagining Aurelia going about the city in her carriage with a tiger at her side, her hand on its head, the people gazing at her in awe. ‘See! Caesar’s daughter rides with a tiger and is not afraid!’

      For several days Caesar had let his thoughts stray to Aurelia more than usual. How had she received his gift? It was even possible that she might reject it. She had a will of her own. Besides, many young girls would be afraid of having a wild beast for a pet. He needed to know that his daughter had responded to the challenge as he wished her to.

      When he heard that she had objected to the drawing of the animal’s claws, he tasted uncertainty, even alarm. But the animal-keeper had the solution. Leather pouches that would enclose the cub’s feet and keep his child safe. Better! Much better. He sent a purse of coins to the slave as a reward for his initiative.

      Now he stayed away from the Senate for an hour to accompany his wife on her regular morning visit to their daughter and her new companion. They were accompanied by a middle-aged woman who had been Aurelia’s nurse when she was younger, and who now lived in retirement in the palace and assumed privileges that no one had given her. She was entirely on the Empress’s side.

      ‘It’s not right, Your Honour, not right at all! How can it be right to give a young girl a wild beast as a pet? The gods made wild animals to be rugs and wall hangings, not playmates!’

      Caesar didn’t bother answering her. The woman had been a palace fixture since she’d been engaged as a wet nurse when Aurelia was born, and she had been interfering and even criticising ever since. He hardly heard her prattle any more. He was looking eagerly ahead of him as they entered the courtyard.

      There they were, already frolicking together. The cub in his leather protectors was crouched in the sunlight, his striped fur glowing boldly, his head on his stretched-out front paws, his hindquarters raised and shifting to and fro, watching intently while the girl drew a string with a tuft of cloth on its end across the floor. His haunches quivered twice – then he pounced. She jerked the lure away just in time. The cub crouched, quivered, pounced again, and this time he got his muffled front paws on the thing and a moment later, had bitten it off its string and was flinging