Rough hands shook him awake in the dawn, and he looked up groggily. It was Mursil, the huntmaster.
‘The Gry-Lion sends for you, Holiness. The hounds are in leash, and the slave-masters assembled. Two of the king’s slaves have run, and the king bids you join the chase.’
Even in his half-wakening state, Huy knew who the running slaves were, and he felt the sick sliding of his guts.
‘The fools,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, the stupid fools.’ Then he looked at Mursil. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I cannot - I will not go with him. I am sick, tell him I am sick.’
Sellene stood in the shadows and listened to the drunken bellowing and laughter from the king’s tent. Beneath the short cloak was concealed the leather grain-bag, a bundle of smoked meat dried into hard black sticks, and a small earthen cooking pot. There was food for two of them for four days, and by then they would be across the great river. She was fearful, and elated at the same time. They had planned this moment for two years, and many emotions played behind her round impassive face as she waited.
Timon came at last; quietly he appeared beside her with such suddenness that she gasped with fright. He took her hand, and led her away towards the perimeter of the camp. She saw that he wore a cloak also, and that a bow and quiver stood behind his shoulder and a short iron sword was belted at his waist. These were weapons forbidden to a slave, and death was the penalty for carrying them.
There were two guards at the gate of the stockade, and while Sellene spoke with them, offering favours, Timon came from the darkness behind them. He broke their necks with his bare hands, taking one in each hand and shaking them the way a dog will shake a rat. There was no outcry, and Timon laid the bodies gently beside the stockade gate and they went through.
They passed through the saucer where the elephant had been butchered, and the night was hideous with the snarling and yammering of the scavengers. Hyena and jackal fought over the bloody scraps and bone chips. With the sword bared in one hand Timon led Sellene through, and though the slinking hump-shouldered hyena followed them, moaning and sniggering, they reached the pass and started down the elephant road into the valley. The moon gave them good light, and they moved fast. They stopped only once at the ford of the stream to rest and drink a little water, then they hurried on towards the north.
Once they came upon a lion in the path. A big male whose body was ghostly grey in the moonlight, with a dark ruff of mane. They stared at each other for long seconds before the lion grunted softly and leapt into the undergrowth beside the path. He had fed recently, and the two human shapes did not interest him.
The moon, four days past full, wheeled across the star-furry sky and sank towards the dark horizon. When it set, there was only the indistinct glow of the stars to light their way, and at a steep and broken place in the path Sellene fell heavily.
Timon heard her cry out and he turned back quickly. She was lying on her side, making a soft moaning sound.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked as he dropped to his knees beside her.
‘My ankle.’ she whispered, agony making her voice husky and Timon groped down her leg. Already the ankle was hot to the touch, and as he held it he could feel it swelling, blowing up into a hard hot ball.
With the sword Timon cut strips from his cloak, and he bound the ankle tightly as Huy had taught him. He worked with frantic haste, and the worms of dread were already gnawing his guts.
When he lifted Sellene to her feet, she cried out as her weight came on the injured foot.
‘Can you walk on it?’ Timon asked, and she tried a few painful hobbling steps. She was panting with pain and her breathing whistled in her throat. She clung to Timon and shook her head hopelessly,
‘I cannot go on. Leave me here.’ Timon lowered her to the ground, and then straightened up as he discarded his weapons and her provisions. He kept only the short sword. He folded and knotted the two leather cloaks into a sling seat for Sellene, and placed it about her body. Then he looped the end over his neck and shoulder and lifted her. She was in his arms, with her own clasped about his shoulders. Half of her weight was taken by the sling, hanging about Timon’s neck. He started forward, striding out down the steep path towards the valley floor.
By mid-morning the sling had rubbed the skin from his neck, a weeping pink graze through the dark skin. The heat was strong now, that heavy oppressive heat of the valley floor sucking away the last of his energy. The spring had long gone from Timon’s step, and he reeled forward with spirit outlasting his physical strength.
On the edge of one of the glades of open grass, Timon stopped and leaned against the trunk of a mhoba-hoba tree. He was afraid to lower the girl’s body to the ground lest he could not find the strength to lift it again. His lips were white and rimmed with dried spittle, and his eyes were laced with red veins. His chest heaved and shook with his breathing.
‘Leave me, Timon,’ Sellene whispered, ‘This way both of us will die.’
Timon did not answer, but gestured her to silence with an impatient inclination of his head. He held his breath and listened. She heard it also then, the faint and distant baying of the hound pack.
He said, ‘It is too late for that.’ And he looked about quickly tor a place to stand. They could not hope to outrun the dogs.
‘You can still escape,’ she urged him. ‘The river is not far.’
‘Without you there is no escape,’ he said, and she clung to him as he carried her across the glade to a place where the mother rock outcropped. A jumble of fragmented granite like the ruins of an ancient castle.
He laid her gently amongst the rocks, with her back against one of the slabs. He folded her cloak and placed it as a pillow for her head, then he squatted beside her and caressed her face and neck with a surprisingly gentle touch for so big a man.
‘They will kill us,’ Sellene said. ‘They always kill those who run.’
Timon did not answer, but his fingers stroked her cheek lightly.
‘They kill in the worst way,’ Sellene said, turning her head to look at him. ‘Would it not be better if we died now, before the dogs come?’ But he did not answer, and after a while she went on. ‘You have the sword, Timon. Will you not use it?’
‘If the little priest is with them, then we have a chance. He has power over the king - and there is a thing between him and me. There is a bond. He will save us.’
