The lion tamer was not a total stranger to Joséphine because she had seen him at the circus with her husband. She had watched him all through his act and had feared for him, which made her feel closer to him. She did not see why he needed to get so close to his beasts. He didn’t have to put his head in their mouths or go near their fangs and claws. She had seen his body exposed and toyed with by huge lions, his almost naked muscular body, and she had been so alarmed for him that she dug her nails into her husband’s palm. She was the only one worried; everyone else had been indifferent.

She had no idea how she would go about asking him to tell her what he was up to, but she had to let him know that his presence was disturbing the villagers. They were all afraid of the lions. Joséphine was running through all the arguments in her head when, at the last bend before reaching the top, she came face to face with him. There he was by the trees, searching for berries, rootling in the undergrowth with a long stick. She was taken by surprise, but he was not.

Joséphine halted her horse, trying not to let her emotions show. She was hot in the late-summer sun. Here was the Spartacus from the big circus cage, the hero magnified by the circus lights, the man who had caused her to tremble and clutch her husband’s hand. It was his face she had seen in the gaping, gigantic, growling mouth of a lion. Never had she gripped her husband’s hand so hard, never had she embraced him for so long and here she was face to face with the man who had been responsible for that embrace. He was more impressive than anyone she had ever seen but her eyes betrayed nothing of what she felt. He came towards her without a word and stroked her horse. The horse was astonishingly calm, soothed by the roughened, heavy hand caressing his muzzle. Daring neither to dismount nor to move, Joséphine ventured a couple of banalities about the red berries he had been foraging a moment earlier, how they shouldn’t be eaten, nor any other berries on the mountain as they were all poisonous. No doubt the man did not consider this worthy of a response. He appeared only to be interested in the horse, in the beautiful stallion that Joséphine mastered so completely because she had trained him over the years. The horse, who normally bit anyone who came near, was putty in the lion tamer’s hands. For once, he was well behaved, as quiet as a lamb.

‘You shouldn’t ride this horse. He’s dangerous.’