Oh—fearless, as in my dreams.
The great, golden kits writhed and swarmed over his shoulders, struggling to break free. Telemakos held them as firmly as he held Candake’s cats, and with as little regard for the strength of their claws.
Medraut laid down his spear and knelt to look into his son’s eyes. Whatever Telemakos saw there was so fearsome that he burst into tears.
“Do not kill them,” he begged. “I will let them go, if I must, but don’t kill them. I was only trying to bless the kingship.”
“You mad thing!” I exclaimed, half inclined to laugh. “What of their mother? She will come hunting for them! What if she had caught you alone?”
Medraut saw the real danger first. He snatched for the spear that lay at his side, and stumbled to gain his feet. The knee that he had broken earlier that year collapsed beneath him; he missed the spear and missed his footing. In the moment before the lioness was upon us, he cried out in a terrible voice, “’Ware Telemakos!”
One of the brothers Anbessa threw himself at the child. They went down together in a flash of gold and dark limbs. I could not tell whether it was Priamos or Abreha.
My bow was in my hand unbidden, and I set arrow upon arrow in the lion’s throat. I shot as Medraut shoots, coldly, accurately; but my bow was not strong enough to kill her outright. The man who had flung his body over Telemakos lay crouched with his narrow hands locked behind his neck, in the desperate hope that if he were attacked he would lose only his hands and not his life. The lioness stood over the man and the child for a fragment of a second, bewildered by the stinging arrows in her throat, scenting the kits.
Then Constantine gave a great cry of fear and anger, and lifted his spear and caught the snarling creature through her breastbone. I shot another arrow into her throat, so close to her now that the shaft buried itself to the fletching. Between spear thrust and arrow’s point we took her at last, between us, Constantine and I.
Constantine worked his spear out of the heavy, golden carcass and stood panting, stunned, his hands smeared with blood. The rest of us flung ourselves at the cowering man and boy. I should say the cowering man, for the child was not in the least cowed. He still clung to his lion cubs as though he would never let them go. They had torn his shirt to ribbons. Medraut, moving with his own recovered leonine stealth and speed, plucked the cubs from Telemakos’s hands by the backs of their necks. The great cats went limp, as kittens do when carried so. They were enormous kittens.
It was Priamos, of course Priamos, who had chanced being rent to pieces in defense of my nephew. The cubs had torn long scratches across his face, traveling from the bridge of his nose over his cheek and down his throat. Abreha let the horses go, now that the danger was past, and crouched at his brother’s side searching for any more serious injury. I snatched Telemakos close against me, and he wound beguiling arms about my neck.
“Can I keep them? I mean, can we keep them? May I present them to the emperor?”
Medraut stood helplessly holding a lion cub at arm’s length in either hand. Constantine rubbed one hand against his sandy forehead and left a great red streak there.
“Well, so it was you,” he said wearily to Priamos. “I wondered which of you could be so selfless.”
“You did not know—” said Priamos, and stopped. Then his flyaway hornbill’s tongue, and perhaps the shock of expecting the perilous teeth to close on the back of his neck, overrode all reason or gratitude in him.
“You did not know! You did not know who you were defending! If you had known it was me, you wouldn’t have done anything! You did not know, you did not care!”
“By God, I did not care!” cried Constantine. “Why, it was either you or the Himyarite king! How should I stand by and watch either one of you have your throat torn out?”
Priamos rose to his knees, shaking off Abreha’s concerned touch. He offered Constantine his open hand, as though holding something precious and invisible in its cup. His pale palm was still faintly striped with the marks of the beating he had taken in the season just past.
“My lord. My king,” he breathed. “Forgive me. I owe you my life and my allegiance.” He closed his eyes. “I beg your forgiveness.”
Constantine paused, looking down at the ambassador’s bowed head and open hand.
“You shall have mine when I have yours,” he said then, and took his rival’s hand.
He raised Priamos to his feet. They stood firm in their shared grip, gazing down at their clasped hands, pale and dark.
“You are welcome to our coalition,” Priamos said at last.
Constantine looked over his shoulder at me, and smiled.
“You noble pair of predators,” I cried, in high spirit. “You are both welcome to my pride.”
“Look, Gebre Meskal is coming,” said Telemakos, and struggled free of my embrace.
Abreha took one of the cubs from Medraut. In the exchange, as they both stood smiling with their heads bent over the young lions, I saw all that Medraut might have been.
Telemakos stood his ground before them, desperate. “Please, please don’t let them go. Let me present them to the emperor, oh, please, sir.”
He was all that Medraut might yet be.
Medraut nodded once to Telemakos. Abreha said to the child, “Stay calm and wait.”