Pride of the Plains (4 page)

He reached the place where the hunting dogs had cornered him and here he made his first kill. A grass rat, garnering seeds for its larder, was an easy target for an agile lion cub. He crunched the rodent with relish and his success encouraged him tremendously. He felt a new sense of independence and began to think about how he could best pursue his search for Challenger.

‘Darkness may be safer,' Moja murmured to himself, ‘but it's no help when you're looking for something.' He decided to spend the night hours hunting, then find a place to lie up as dawn approached. Then in the daylight he could judge for himself whether there was a chance of beginning a search.

Small prey, Moja found, was easy to come by. He was able to satisfy his appetite and to practise his own method of hunting. By dawn all the running, jumping and pouncing had tired him out. He climbed into
the fork of an acacia, not far off the ground, and fell asleep.

Daylight woke Challenger, who hadn't moved from his hiding-place for the best part of a day. His morale was at a low ebb. Vanquished again by Battlescars, he had lost all confidence in his ability to compete for a mate. He no longer felt like a challenger. He was weak from loss of blood, gashed and torn in a dozen places, and had a raging thirst. When he tried to heave himself to his feet his trembling limbs protested at his body's weight and he collapsed on to his side. But water was maddeningly close and he made another attempt to rise. Half crawling, half pulling himself along on his belly, the young lion managed to reach the near edge of the pool. His body subsided into the water and he lay where he was for several minutes, perfectly still. Sunshine skipped over the surface of the pool. Warmth and the refreshing feel of the water revived him, and gradually he became aware of his senses returning. He roused and lapped greedily. Then he struggled to his feet and stood with the water up to his chin. The sound of racking breaths and long drawn out groans came to his ears. He turned and there was Blackmane at the other end of the pool, staggering and sliding into the water just as he had done. Challenger had forgotten Blackmane.

The sight of the older lion in as bad a plight as he put new heart into him. He remembered how he had forced Blackmane out of the fight and suddenly all his old spirit rekindled. Yes, he had been defeated. But it had needed two lions to do it: big, powerful animals who had fought and conquered across wide swaths of territory. And now he, Challenger, had laid one of them low. Blackmane was out of the running for good. Challenger watched the older animal, who
was indeed in a parlous state. Flaps of flesh hung loose on his underside as though they had been peeled back. Challenger crept forward, ready to gloat.

‘You've done for me,' Blackmane muttered hoarsely. ‘I shall never heal.'

Challenger saw the water red where Blackmane was sprawled. A shred of sympathy checked his feeling of triumph. This lion's period of supremacy was over and there was nothing left for him but a few lingering invalid days as he waited for death to claim him. Then Challenger recalled the ambush and his sympathy vanished.

‘You and your brother plotted to finish me,' he said. ‘It didn't quite work out, did it? I'm not finished after all. I shall lie low for a while and recover my strength. There'll be another chance for me.'

Blackmane listened and knew he was right. One day it would be Challenger's time to dominate. There was nothing more to say. It was the pattern of things.

The lions parted, Challenger to go to his hiding-place in the bush, Blackmane to await the return of his brother. For the first time Battlescars had had to travel alone to their other pride in the north. Blackmane dreaded that he would be driven from it by rivals. The days when the brothers had held three prides were well and truly over. Now even two prides might well prove too much for one ageing male.

Moja welcomed the sunlight. He felt strong and wasn't afraid. He climbed higher up the acacia and balanced himself to get a view through the branches. He saw zebra with their barrel chests and long legs feeding amongst the dew. There was no familiar tawny shape of a lion in evidence. The morning was quiet. Then, suddenly, Moja realised there was another animal in the tree. Whatever it was, it was asleep. Its rasping
snore, peaceful and regular had roused Moja's curiosity. He looked about him and what he saw nearly made him drop to the ground. A fully grown leopard with matchless camouflage dozed in the midst of the sun-dappled branches, its limbs dangling lazily from its perch and its noble face twitching as it enjoyed dreams of hunting. Moja felt certain it was the same beast that had passed close by him the previous night. He was enthralled by this picture of latent power, but he didn't loiter too long in his admiration. He clambered to the trunk of the tree and, digging in hard with his claws, reversed down to the ground. Making the most of the quiet, he set off at a trot, keeping under cover as much as he could.

Chance brought Moja to the very pool where his father and uncle had fought for their lives. Signs of a battle were not difficult to detect: tufts of mane, spilt blood and mingled scents of lion made Moja shiver in anticipation. He recognised Battlescars's scent at once, and looked all round for his father. Where was he? Then he saw the big black-maned male lying half in and half out of the water. Already vultures were circling nearby. Moja rushed to the prone animal's side. The lion was dying. Moja saw it was Blackmane. He stared at the fallen giant, unsure how to react. When he sniffed at his uncle, Blackmane's dull eyes fixed on him and a gasp escaped from his open mouth. He didn't recognise Moja.

‘Is my father here?' the cub whispered.

There was no reply. Blackmane's life was over.

Not understanding, Moja tried to stir him. ‘Blackmane? Blackmane! Where's my father? Can't you tell me? Oh, poor creature. Poor lion.' He knew something awful had happened. Where was Battlescars? The two big males were usually seen together. And
where was the rest of the pride? Moja was more desperate than ever to find out.

A voice called him, but not one from his own family. It was Challenger, who had seen him nuzzling Blackmane and recognised his perplexity. ‘Over here, cub. Over here.'

Moja traced the voice and found his recent companion in almost the same miserable state as Blackmane. He was shocked and scared. ‘What … what … ' he stammered.

‘I was ambushed,' Challenger told him. ‘Two males against one. We fought. I was nearly killed. But I survived. One of my enemies didn't.'

Moja gaped. He glanced at his uncle's body, then back at Challenger. ‘You … you did that?' he gasped.

‘I fought for my life,' Challenger growled.

‘But … where is Battlescars? Where is my father?' Moja demanded.

‘Him? Oh, he sloped off eventually. I made sure he carried a few more scars too,' Challenger finished boastfully.

Moja backed away. How could he ever have trusted this animal? Challenger would never have led him back to the pride he regarded as his enemies. Moja did not yet understand that the pride females were far from enemies in Challenger's eyes. He turned and scampered away without pausing for a moment by the still body of Blackmane. His priority now was to find the rest of his family. Too battered to prevent him, Challenger watched as the cub he had planned to use to lure Huru from her pride vanished from sight.

The rest of the pride knew nothing of Blackmane's death. After Huru and Kimya had taken the cubs away they had seen no more of the males. They believed that Battlescars and Blackmane must now be renewing
control of their other pride to the north. Defeat for either of the brothers was something the lionesses didn't contemplate. Now they were lying on a soft mat of grass a considerable distance from the pool, their cubs mostly asleep, lolling against their legs and sides. The sisters had some curiosity about that other pride whose attention claimed periodic visits from the males.

‘Do you ever feel relief,' Kimya asked as she gave Sita a comforting lick, ‘when our mates leave us for a spell?'

‘No,' Huru answered. ‘I prefer them to be with us. More protection that way.'

‘You're thinking of the young male, the brave one?' Kimya asked.

‘Yes. Was he
so
brave, though?' Huru queried. ‘He had two brothers with him when he first came snooping.'

‘They're not around now,' Kimya said dismissively, and yawned. ‘And even Battlescars was impressed by that young upstart.'

‘It's clear you are as well,' Huru remarked gruffly. ‘I hope your allegiance isn't wavering. Blackmane is the father of your cubs.'

‘Of course I'm not wavering, sister. Blackmane and Battlescars are the finest males around. But they are ageing.'

Huru couldn't dispute this and she did wonder if one day the brothers' reign might come to an end. She watched Mbili and Tatu sleeping with their heads resting on one another and felt an overwhelming tenderness. Then she looked away and into the distance. Moja came into her mind again: her firstborn cub still missing in this wilderness. She ached to know what had happened to him. But she pushed the
thought away. She had learnt that it was of no value to dwell on it.

Every night, after his last encounter with Challenger, Moja was crossing country that unfortunately took him farther away from his pride on each successive journey. He had nothing and no one to guide him and was actually wandering haphazardly, following the same programme of catching small nocturnal prey as he travelled, then finding a hideaway at dawn. Sometimes he continued his search by daylight hours if the landscape seemed quiet and empty. Eventually he began to hear lion calls and he tried to track them, listening hard for a roar he would recognise.

One night the calls seemed very close and Moja was absolutely certain he could hear his father's voice. Those earthshaking roars of possession were too familiar to mistake. Moja thrilled to the sound, which set the air all around vibrating. Answering roars from other males followed. Moja knew then that his father had competition. Without knowing it the cub had brought himself close to his father's other, bigger pride rather than to his own. But he did know that Battlescars was alone now and had no Blackmane to support him. He was excited but anxious. He remembered that Challenger had already dealt his father some wounding blows, perhaps weakening him. Moja none the less believed Battlescars to be invincible. He had never known him to be beaten. He settled down in a disused hare's burrow and listened to the exchange of taunts and claims.

On that night the calls led to nothing. Battlescars seemed so close that Moja determined to reach him the next day. He was tired of being on his own. He had been fortunate so far in avoiding danger, but he needed the reassuring companionship of an adult. At
dawn he found a useful look-out point in the shape of a weatherbeaten termite mound. From its crumbling crest Moja saw a gathering of lionesses with their young. Cubs of his age and others much older were in evidence. He was sure this was his father's pride and he sighed with relief. He pictured Battlescars's surprise and welcome when he greeted him and he waited impatiently for him to emerge.

As the daylight strengthened Moja noticed three males half hidden in some longer grass but close enough to the females to suggest they were bonded. The cub was puzzled. Was one of these his father? He had to find out.

He clambered from his mound and padded forward anxiously, wondering if he should call out to Battlescars. But there was no time to decide. Five females and some of the older cubs confronted him within moments with snarls and threatening faces.

‘What are you doing here?'

‘Whose cub are you?'

Their demanding voices held menace.

‘I'm Battlescars's cub,' Moja answered stoutly, expecting them to change their attitude to him immediately. But their antagonism remained.

‘His day's over,' snarled one of the younger females. ‘And so is yours, young cub. You made a big mistake coming here.'

‘But I – I
heard
him,' Moja insisted. ‘I heard his voice. He can't just have
gone
like that.'

‘He's gone all right,' another growled. ‘Didn't even put up a fight when he saw how he was outnumbered.'

Moja glanced towards where the three males were beginning to stir themselves to investigate him and he realised the truth. He had blundered into an alien pride that was completely hostile to him.

Moja's only hope was to run. He guessed the males would kill him if they got the chance; a few fleeting seconds and all would be over. He looked round for a patch of cover as the lions circled. There was none. He could think only of the termite mound where he had watched for his father. There was nothing else within reach that offered any kind of sanctuary.

As Moja started to run one of the males let out a roar that so terrified him that it lent wings to his feet. He flew towards the earthen pillar with the males in hot pursuit. The cub's lead was scanty. The lions' longer strides brought them within a metre of his rear as, instinctively, he dived into an underground chamber at the base of the mound. There was barely room for him to pull himself clear of his pursuers. Dust and grit showered down on him and clogged his nostrils. But the ancient excavations of the insect hordes who had once lived in and developed this extraordinary structure were Moja's salvation now. He panted, half choking, as he breathed in more debris. The males grumbled and snarled outside. Moja flinched at each sound, his body rigid with the expectation that powerful claws would soon rip through his shield and tug him clear. Where was his father now that he needed a parent's protection? Moja
couldn't believe that Battlescars had tamely given up his reign to these lions without more than a few token roars. Perhaps he was still nearby, plotting his next move. Moja was heartened by the idea and refused to accept what he had been told. In the meantime all he could do was to lie still and wait. There wasn't enough space even to wriggle.