"I know nothing and can tell you nothing, Falco." Well, I expected that.

"I'm glad you aren't taking the credit. If the Sacred Geese of Juno had guzzled any of the poison, Rome would face a national crisis."

"Shocking," he said impassively.

"Calliopus seems to be the regular recipient of sacks that have ‘fallen off the back of a cart.' "

Saturninus was not in the least put out. "Roadside thieves nip things off when carts slow down at crossroads, Falco."

"Yes, it's an old dodge. And a better-sounding explanation than that the supplier allowed a regular fiddle to owners of menagerie animals."

"Oh not us. We buy our feed at cost, through proper channels."

"Well, I certainly recommend that for the next few months! Do your ‘proper channels' include the Granary of the Galbae?"

"I believe we get better terms from the Granary of the Lollii."

"Very astute. Incidentally, Calliopus lost a fine male ostrich who ate some of the bad corn."

"I'm desolate for him."

Helena had noticed that I was flagging again: "Calliopus does seem to have rather bad luck with his menagerie. Or perhaps not. Think about when he first lost his lion: the story of a prank on the yard is clearly untrue. Evidence shows that Leonidas had been taken from his cage and transported elsewhere. Calliopus is either very stupid indeed to believe what he alleges Iddibal did-or he knows the real truth and is foolishly trying to delude Marcus Didius."

"Why would Calliopus do that?" asked Euphrasia, wide-eyed and giggling.

"The easy solution, the one we are supposed to believe, is that Calliopus has decided to exact his own revenge for his lion's death and he doesn't want interference."

"And is there a complicated solution, Helena?"

I was secretly watching Saturninus, but he managed to look merely polite.

"One explanation," Helena decided, "would be that Calliopus was fully aware of what was planned that night." For all the interest he showed, Saturninus could have been listening to her describing a new Greek novel.

"Why would he want his lion killed?" Euphrasia scoffed.

"I don't imagine he did. Whatever murky business was in hand, Leonidas probably died by accident."

"When Calliopus saw the body, his reaction seemed genuine," I confirmed. In fact his anger and surprise had been the only sure signals he evinced that day. "But I'm damned certain he knew all along that Leonidas was being taken away in the night."

The way Saturninus was now staring fixedly at his fingernails marked a change in him. What had given him pause? That Calliopus knew of the plan? No, he had heard Helena say so without a flicker of reaction. I reckon he knew Leonidas was being taken away… Was the key word "Leonidas"? I remembered a couple of puzzles I had seen at the menagerie: the name board for Leonidas stored in another part of the building, and the second lion being first hidden away then returned to the main corridor as if that was his usual place.

"My opinion," I submitted crisply, "is that Leonidas was a substitute."

"A substitute?" Even Helena was surprised.

"Calliopus owns a second lion, a new one just imported. I think Draco was supposed to have gone on the mystery tour that night."

Saturninus remained silent. This could all be nothing to do with him. Or he might be in the thick of it.

"I think," I said, "Calliopus for some reason had Draco and Leonidas secretly switched."

Saturninus finally looked up. "It would be very dangerous," he said slowly, "if someone was expecting a freshly captured wild animal, to send them a trained man-eater instead."

I returned his stare levelly. "The recipients would be on watch for the wrong set of behavior?" He made no reply. "The man-eater might be mishandled. Imagine the scene: Leonidas had been accustomed to making journeys in a small traveling cage, and he knew what to expect at the end of it: the arena-and men for him to eat. He was hungry that night; his keeper told me so. On being released from the cage, strangers might unwittingly give him signals that set off his training. He normally looked quiet, even friendly, but once he thought he was supposed to attack he would go for whoever he saw-perhaps even kill them."

"When he started rampaging, people would panic," Helena said.

"Anyone who was armed," I went on, "would have to try to kill the lion. A gladiator, for instance."

Finally Saturninus made a slight gesture with his hand. It merely said my suggestion was feasible. It did not say he had ever seen it happen. He would never confess that.

I still had no certain knowledge why Leonidas had been taken from his cage that night, where he went, or who was with him on his journey and at its violent aftermath. But I was convinced that I had just worked out how he came to die.

Thirty

DID IT MATTER?

I toyed with a bunch of grape stems that had been mislaid among the lushly fringed spread on my feeding couch. Was I eccentric to care? Was my obsession with Leonidas unhealthy and pointless? Or was I right, and the noble beast's fate should be as significant to a civilized man as any unexplained killing of a fellow human being?

When Saturninus said that sending a man-eater in place of an untrained lion was dangerous, for a rare moment he had failed to keep his voice calm. Was he remembering the killing? And if he was present, was he in any way responsible for the whole sinister farce? He had already claimed he and Euphrasia had dined with the ex-praetor Urtica that night. I thought him easily the sort of man who knows that the best lies are closest to the truth; the truth could be not that Saturninus possessed a respectable alibi, but far worse: that poor Leonidas had also been the praetor's guest.

Pomponius Urtica had a new, "wild" girlfriend; he might want to impress her. He was keen on the Circus; he was close to the lanistae. Saturninus for one seemed to view Urtica as a contact with useful influence. The man's status could be about to evaporate, however. If it were ever made known that he had commissioned death for domestic entertainment, then he would be destroyed politically.

Saturninus would of course cover up for him. This could be it: first he had indulged the man by secretly arranging some sort of combat. Then, when the display went wrong, Saturninus had boldly made the best of it. By saving the magistrate's reputation, he would acquire a patron with a permanent debt.

I was beginning to understand. One aspect I saw immediately was that anyone who threatened to expose the people involved was courting danger. Urtica was politically powerful. Saturninus kept a troupe of trained killers. He had been a gladiator himself; if crossed, he looked as if he could still avenge himself quite efficiently.

Across the space where the tables had been, now an expanse of newly swept geometric mosaic tiles, Helena Justina had observed me brooding. She held my gaze until my mood lightened, then she smiled quietly. I was feeling the strain of my cold. I would have liked to be taken home, but it was still too early to retire. Hospitality held us in its relentless grip.

Saturninus had been giving his attention to a bowl of nuts. Now he looked up suddenly and, as people do when you want to be left alone to snuffle, he insisted on making me share his vivacity. "So, Falco! The word is you're making my old partner Calliopus hop!"

This was the last subject I wanted to discuss. I applied the necessary discreet smile. "That's privileged information."

"I bet he's cheating the Censor to Hades and back."

"He has employed an accountant with flair."

"But you're thwarting them?"

My irritation was hard to check. "Saturninus, you're too intelligent to think you can give me dinner then expect me to leak secrets."