'My God, Greg what on earth is it?'
'A lion, Miss Camberwell,'
Gregorius . explained, obviously surprised that she did not recognize
such a commonplace sound.
'A lion? That is a lion roaring?' She had not expected it to sound
anything like that.
'My people say that even a brave man is frightened three times by a
lion and the first time is when he hears it roar.'
'I believe it,'
she whispered. 'I truly do.' And she picked up her blankets and went
to where Jake and Gareth slept on, undisturbed. She lay down carefully
between them, and felt a little easier that the lion had now a wider
choice, but still she did not sleep, Count Aldo Belli had retired to
his tent with the sincerest and firmest resolve that in the morning he
would press forward to the Wells of Chaldi. The General's pleas had
touched him. Nothing would check him now, he decided, as he composed
himself to sleep.
He woke in the utter dark of the dog hours to find that the
Chianti he had drunk at dinner was now exerting internal pressure.
Where a lesser man might have slipped without ceremony from his bed to
deal with this problem, the Count did things in greater style.
He lay back on his pillows and let out a single loud bellow, and
immediately there was the frantic activity in the night, and within
minutes Gino had arrived with a bull's-eye lantern, hastily dressed in
a camel-hair gown, and tousle-haired and owl-eyed with sleep. He was
followed by the Count's personal valet and his galloper, all in the
same state of freshly awoken bewilderment.
The Count stated his physical needs, and the dedicated group gathered
around his bed solicitously. Gino helped him up as though he were an
invalid, the valet held a dressing gown of quilted blue Chinese silk,
embroidered with ferocious scarlet dragons, and then knelt to place a
calf-skin slipper on each of the Count's feet, while his aide hastened
to kick the Count's personal guard awake and fall them in outside the
tent.
The Count emerged from the tent and a small procession, well armed and
lighted, filed down to the latrine which had been dug exclusively for
the Count's personal use. Gino entered first and checked the small
thatched edifice for snakes, scorpions and brigands. Only when he
emerged and declared it safe did the Count enter. His escort stood to
attention and listened respectfully to the copious outpouring taking
place within until they were interrupted by the sky shaking
earth-rattling, heart-stopping roar of a male lion.
The Count shot from the latrine, his face a startled glistening white
in the lantern light.
'Sweet and merciful Mother of God!' he cried. 'What in the name of
Peter and all the saints is that?' Nobody could answer him, in fact
nobody showed any interest in the question whatever, and the Count had
to move swiftly to catch up with his armed escort which had already
started back towards the bivouac in a sprightly fashion.
