A scream of pain rose from the arena floor. A zebra had gone down, kicking and struggling. Lions closed in, ripping and tearing at its belly. Margo screamed and hid her eyes. More frantic cries and screeches rose on the air. Whenever she dared look, she found big cats swarming across helpless antelopes … leopards running down ostriches and slamming them into the sand … zebras torn apart while still alive …
She hid her eyes until it was over.
Trumpets sang out, a sound of madness in the bright April sunlight. Margo looked up. Then went cold Men were entering the arena. Men with nets and trident-pointed spears, men with swords and helmets, men on foot and on horseback. Lions snarled and backed away or stood their ground over reeking kills. The hunters advanced slowly. A few hung back near the moat, clear!
terrified. Then a lion roared a challenge and charge
It wasn’t sport.
It was murder.
Of the fifty men who entered the arena, only six left it alive. They were the only living things still walking on the sand when it was over. Even the horses had been killed, pulled down by murderous cats. The crowd thundered approval of their “victor” as they limped off the sand, bleeding and stumbling. Margo sat frozen in place, shocked to her core. She’d understood at one level what a bestiary was. But to actually watch men ripped to pieces by ravenous hunting cats …
She wanted desperately to find someplace quiet where she could be sick. Instead she stayed in her seat and watched while slaves removed the carcasses. The sun journeyed across the sky, leaving Margo light-headed She wished she hadn’t eaten lunch. Down on the sand, another parade began. This time, the participants were gladiators. Some rode horses, some carried nets and tridents like the bestiary hunters. Some wore odd helmets with fish on top. A few rode chariots-the drivers, all but naked, were tattooed in blue over most of their bodies.