Amara can see the beasts circling, lean and hungry, while the men stand with their backs together in the center of the arena. She has never seen a tiger before, but she’s watched enough cats stalk their prey to recognize the low, slow prowl, muscles bunched, ready to spring. Beronice grabs her arm as the first attacks. It moves so fast, she cannot imagine how any of the hunters have time to react, but one catches it with his spear, and the animal sheers off, limping and wounded. Another tiger charges and, this time, lands a blow, knocking a man to the ground.

The yelling from the crowd is so intense, the action in the arena so frantic, she cannot work out what is happening. Beside her, Beronice is jumping up and down, Victoria is screaming and then she realizes she is too, though she’s not sure who she is shouting for, the men or the beasts. Even Dido is caught up in the hysteria, punching the air when one man saves another, leaping on the back of the attacking tiger as if it were a horse.

The role of hunter and hunted switches back and forth, sometimes the beasts are in retreat, sometimes the men. The skill of the fighters, the grace of the tigers, all of it is punctuated by acts of savagery which make Amara gasp. She keeps watching, unable to look away, until the last tiger has been slaughtered. Their bodies are dragged from the arena, leaving thick red trails in the sand. One of the men is taken off too, his chest covered in blood from a shoulder wound. The remaining two hunters stand together, throwing their arms up to receive the adulation of the crowds.

“Doubt the injured one will make it,” Victoria says, raising her voice above the din. “That tiger practically had his arm off!”

“Will they replace him?” Dido asks. “Or will the next fight just have two hunters?”

“They usually replace them if it’s this early, otherwise the hunt doesn’t last long enough,” Cressa says.

A few women are getting up, making use of the break to go to the latrine. “I think I had better go,” Amara says.

“Don’t break the ironmonger’s heart,” Victoria says.

Dido squeezes her arm. “Good luck.”

Amara’s own heart is thumping with nerves as she makes her way down the outside steps of the arena. What if Menander misunderstood and thought she meant the end of all the beast hunts? What if he doesn’t come? She walks quickly to the gate where they have arranged to meet and can see, even from a distance, that he is already waiting for her.

Then they are standing together, and nothing else matters.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he says, taking hold of her hand.

“You too.”