He pointed to a spot on the quay, where the crowd was thickest. A crane there stood up, from which a gigantic rhinoceros was hanging in mid-air, supported by broad bands and girths.
“A cargo of beasts for the centennial games,"[379] said Quintus. “There, to the left, are a dozen of iron cages ready to receive them. Half Asia and Africa have been plundered for the amphitheatres.”
They went nearer, for an interest in wild beasts was a natural instinct, in all who had ever breathed the air of Rome. The hum and clatter of the seaport were dully drowned now and again by a hoarse roar—the growl of one of the lions from Gaetulia, restlessly pacing up and down behind the bars of their prison, which had just been landed.
“That is something like a cageful!” said the Batavian.
“The freight of two vessels,” remarked Quintus, glancing at the two large ships, one of which had already unloaded and gone to its moorings. “Our gladiators may pray for good-luck.”
Another deep roar, as wild and hungry as ever resounded through the midnight desert, drowned his voice. They were now within a few paces of the landing-place, and from hence they could command a complete view of the enormous array of cages, loaded on low trucks, which were waiting to be transported to their destination by road. Hyrcanian tigers pressed their glossy striped coats against the iron bars; Cantabrian bears, standing on their hind legs, poked their sharp muzzles between the railings; leopards from Mauritania, hyænas, panthers and lynxes gnashed their blood-thirsty jaws; aurochs and buffaloes whetted their sheathless horns, or stared in lazy indifference on the strange surroundings. There were a few rhinoceroses too, a great rarity at Rome; and some enormous crocodiles, which excited the astonishment and curiosity of the maritime populace. Farther off, fastened together in long rows, were numbers of wild asses from the hills of Numidia, wild horses, giraffes and zebras; for even such beasts as these had their part in the mighty fights in the Flavian amphitheatre.
Quintus and Aurelius lounged idly towards the cages, while Afranius studied the movements of the crane, which was now beginning to lower the grotesque monster. The two young men came to a stand in front of a lion of unusual size, which was snorting at the bars of its cage, and standing in a haughty and threatening attitude, its head and tangled mane held high in the air. It was, in fact, the same beast as had just now sent out that terrific roar. His keeper, leaning against the corner of the cage at a respectful distance, had tried to coax and pacify the brute, and as the two gentlemen approached the cage he respectfully withdrew to one side. The lion watched him as he moved, and then, as he turned his head and perceived the two strangers so close to the bars, he drew back a pace as if startled, bellowed out for the third time his thundering and appalling roar; and blind with fury, rushed at the iron railing.
Quintus and Aurelius smiled and looked at each other—but they had both turned pale at the brute’s unexpected onslaught.
“He seems to have some personal objection to me,” said Quintus. “His fiery glare is steadily fixed on me. My word! but it increases my respect for our gladiators; to stand face to face with such a beast in the arena, must have an unpleasant effect on the nerves. Here we see nature in all its unmitigated ferocity.”
The lion was, in fact, standing with a burning eye fixed on Quintus, as though in him he recognized an old enemy.