But I loved this lion before I even met him. Leonidas was a man-eater, a trained one. At the next suitable Games he was going to execute a repulsive sexual killer called Thurius. Thurius had been preying on women for decades, then chopping them into pieces and dumping the remains; I myself had identified and brought him to court. The first thing I had done when Anacrites and I met Calliopus was to ask for a conducted tour of the cages, and once there, I made a beeline for the lion.

Addressing Leonidas like a trusted colleague, I explained very carefully the degree of ferocious savagery I expected from him on the day. “I'm sorry we can't get it over with at the Saturnalia, but that's a festival of jollity, so the priests say doing away with criminals would pollute the event. Well this gives the bastard longer to dwell on his agony when you finally get to him. Rip him to shreds just as slowly as you can, Leo make him linger.”

“No use, Falco.” The keeper, Buxus, had listened. “Lions are kind and polite killers. One paw swipe and you're out.”

“I'll make a note to ask for the big cats if I ever fall foul of the law!”

Leonidas was still young. He was fit and bright-eyed, though foul of breath from eating bloody meat. Not too much of it-they kept him starved so he would do his work efficiently. He lay at the far edge of his cage in the semi-darkness. The heavy twitch of his tail was filled with contemptuous menace. Distrustful golden eyes watched us.

“What I admire about you, Falco,” Anacrites commented, coming up behind me on stealthy feet, “is your personal attention to the most obscure detail.”

It was better than hearing Petronius Longus constantly moaning that I became bogged down in trivia, but it meant the same: just like the old one, my new partner was telling me I wasted time.

“Leonidas,” I stated (wondering what the chances were of persuading the lion to devour my new partner), “is entirely relevant. He cost a lot of money, didn't he, Buxus?”