“Naturally.” The keeper nodded. He was ignoring Anacrites; he preferred to deal with me. “The problem is catching them alive. I've been over to Africa and seen it. They use a kid for bait. Getting beasts to pounce and fall into a pit is dodgy enough-then they have to extract the cats without damage, while they are roaring their heads off and trying to maul anyone who comes close. Calliopus uses an agent who sometimes snatches cubs for us-but he has to hunt and kill the mother first. And then there's the bother of rearing the cubs until they're a useful size for the Games.”

I grinned. “No wonder the proverb says the first requirement for a successful politician is knowing a good source for tigers.”

“We don't have tigers,” said Buxus gravely. Satire was lost on him. Jokes about senators bribing the people with gory spectacles just bounced off his bald cranium. “Tigers come from Asia, and that's why so few reach Rome. We only have links with North Africa, Falco. We get lions and leopards. Calliopus comes from Oea-”

“Right. He keeps the business in the family. Does Calliopus' agent rear his lion cubs over there?”

“No point wasting the expense of shipping them-that's a game in itself-not until they're big enough to be of some use.”

“So Calliopus owns a menagerie in Tripolitania as well as this one?”

“Yes.” That would be the establishment in Oea that Calliopus had sworn to the Censors was in his brother's name. Anacrites surreptitiously made a note on a tablet, finally aware what I was driving at. The beasts could be as valuable as they liked; it was land, whether in Italy or the provinces, that we were tracking down. We suspected that this Oean “brother” of Calliopus was a fiction.

That had been enough for us to pursue on site the first day. We collected the menagerie records to add to a pile of scrolls about Calliopus' fighting tough men, then we slogged back with the documents to our new office.