And then Maurice, who never said a word, probably inspired by the raging skies, told him about how his great-grandfather, the one with the lions, had gone to meet the shepherdess one evening. She lived in a hut at the end of the fields on the left, at the top of the meadows. It was during the war and nobody knew about them, except one man in the village. One jealous man.

July 1915

July 1915

Heads forward, ears flattened, the lions and tigers followed the path through the hills. They were tracking the scent of the lion tamer and the wonderful aroma of the far-off flock. For weeks now they had caught the whiff of fresh flesh, for weeks they had dreamed of hunting and stalking the ewes. Tonight they were – running into the wind straight to the ewes. They knew their prey was too far away and the wind was blowing in the wrong direction for the ewes to sense that the lions and tigers were approaching. But still, they moved stealthily, without either crouching down or creeping along and sped up to cross exposed parts of the route. But once the ewes were in sight, they started to run. They had never run as fast before. Born into captivity, they had no experience of stampeding or stalking prey. They were guided instead by instinct towards the flock on the pasture.

The eight wild cats stayed together. Théo led the way and the others followed him in single file through the velvety night. La Bûche remained near the house, panicking at the thought that the big cats were roaming free. He didn’t know whether they were still nearby, right by the house or whether they were by now far away. He dared not stir, seeing movement in every bush, terrified that at any moment a giant beast ready to eat him would spring out. He trembled at the thought. He didn’t even have the guts to return to the village, fearing he would be pounced on by the pack. Although the lions were streaming towards the meadows.

It was their first experience of freedom and they were determined to enjoy a glorious hunt; from now on there would be no more cages for them, no more war, nothing except the sea of ewes whose scent was growing stronger the closer they went.

Wolfgang and Joséphine were lying on the bed, naked in their peaceful world. When she saw the red terracotta pot under the sink Joséphine was once more struck by the sourness of human nature.

‘Do you know the butcher in Limogne?’

‘A little. At first he used to give me bones and offal, but now he sells everything for top prices, bones and even intestines …’

‘You know, I think he was the one stealing the ewes and giving Le Simple money so that he wouldn’t say anything. I haven’t seen him, but I have the proof.’